


Phantom Pain

by invisibledeity



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Ending, Bad Touch Chancellor, Beating, Body Horror, Dissociation, Forced Kissing, Forced Surgery, Gore, Humiliation, M/M, MT!Prompto, Multi, Nightmares, Nonconsensual Touching, Psychological Horror, You Have Been Warned, an alternate take on MT!Prom, and there we go my favourite tag is back, cloning, derealisation, didn't take long did it, eye related injuries, identity crisis, involuntary medication, mental programming, oh yeah light promptis too, one-sided promdyn, reciprocal promptis, so let's begin, tagged as noncon because touching but there is no rape, we're looking at probably about 5 chapters here, y'know the usual from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11531862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: 'Prompto, it's just a bad dream.'He stares wide-eyed at Noctis, voice cracking. 'I'm not so sure... oh gods, don't let me go back!'------It all starts when he meets Ardyn for the first time. And it takes the bros a while to realise that something is so terribly not-okay in Prompto's brain.





	1. Crossing the Rubicon

**Author's Note:**

> I so badly wanted to try my hand at some MT!Prom fics. So here you go. Bring kleenex, probably.
> 
> Fic is named after the song by The Mission.
> 
> \-------  
> Doctor Kore is not my character - she belongs to [LadyProto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyProto/pseuds/LadyProto), who's got much bigger plans in store for the lovely scientist. Here, Kore makes a few nice cameos ^__^

 

Galdin Quay was beautiful. Not just send-a-postcard-back-to-your-parents beautiful, but beautiful in a way that made Prompto want to stop in his tracks, lean on the railing overlooking the beach and just drink it in. There was the horrible, inexplicable feeling that somehow, this was the only chance he’d get to see it, and he’d only need to blink for it to all be over. The urge to grasp at the sand, feel it beneath his fingers, to keep the sun beating down overhead, warming the bared skin of his arms, was so strong, and it was strange, because nothing had brought this on, and yet he felt like he wanted to cry.

            He didn’t know why he was feeling so out-of-sorts. They’d only just left Insomnia the day before. This was a good trip, a happy trip. In a few days, he’d be watching his best friend get married. So why the apprehension settling in his stomach like a stone in a pond?

            Perhaps he just hadn’t been outside the city’s borders enough. He felt horribly underprepared and naïve as it was. And being outside of one’s comfort zone was bound to cause such disconnected, flighty feelings. Hadn’t he heard others say as much when they spoke of things like going to university, or leaving their parents’ homes to live on their own for the first time?

_Outside my comfort zone. Yeah, let’s go with that._

‘Hey, Prom, you ready?’

_Oh right. The camera._

He blinked. The scene didn’t vanish. And he nodded at Noctis, grappled for the device on its cord around his neck, looked for a suitable resting spot. A nearby fence. Sturdy enough.

            ‘Right. Yeah. ‘Kay, I’m gonna set the timer.’ He balanced the camera on the post, pressed a button, then leapt into action, posing at the forefront of the group with a broad smile on his face. ‘Annnd, _action!’_

The flash went off, and seconds later they relaxed their poses.

            ‘Always so serious, Iggy.’ Noctis jostled his advisor, chuckling as Prompto shared the resultant photo with the group.

            ‘Yes, well, someone has to keep an eye out for you lot. It does take its toll.’ Ignis propped his glasses further up his nose. His tone was wry but he was smiling back at the prince fondly. Prompto hardly knew the man, really, but he was already starting to reconsider his opinion of him as a stuck-up sort.

            Gladio grunted, heaved his way up the steps to the pier, stretched those muscled arms wide. ‘Let’s go catch that boat before it sails on without us.’

            ‘Right you are. Noct, Prompto, coming?’

            Prompto nodded, all too eager to fall into step.

            His eagerness had all but vanished by the time they reached the dock. He barely even registered the tall figure sweep past until the man had somehow awkwardly cornered them, targeting Noctis as he spoke.

            ‘I’m afraid you’re out of luck. The boats bring you here?’

            For some reason the honeyed voice that spilled from those lips seemed familiar, like he’d heard it long ago on some nursery rhyme recording. He almost wanted to sink under its spell, until he remembered that nursery rhymes never ended well. So he interjected. For his own sanity as much as for the desire to back up Noct.

            ‘What about ‘em?’

            Prompto didn’t like the small side look the man gave him. It only lasted a fraction of a second but it made him feel somehow exposed, laid bare. The kind of look a person gives when sharing some inside joke.

            But, as quickly as it came, he brushed the thought away. Settled for edging further behind Gladio’s swarthy bulk.

            To his relief, the stranger’s attention shifted, and he gestured back at the dock. ‘Well, they’ll not take you forth.’ He waxed lyrical for a few moments longer, talking about the ferry delays and the uneasy politics behind it until Gladio stepped in, catching the coin he’d flung carelessly towards Noctis. Then, a ruffle of that faded wine-coloured hair, and he left them be.

            Prompto peeked out from behind Gladio’s frame as the man walked away. He was far too theatrical. _Exit stage left._

            Ignis and Gladio fell into hushed conversation the instant the curious stranger was out of earshot. And, as soon as the atmosphere dropped, as soon as the chatter from the restaurant filled the oppressive space and the sun arched out over the bay, Prompto began to second-guess his own reactions.

            The man had hardly done anything wrong. In fact, he’d helped them. Given them free advice. So why did he feel so on edge? It was dumb, so dumb.

            So they’d wait another night to catch the ferry, it seemed. That was fine. While Ignis made arrangements for a suite at the hotel - and Prompto was excited for this, he’d never slept in a room perched out over the water before and the concept seemed so ridiculous - the group fell into a calm sort of acceptance of their situation. Galdin was a strange sort of limbo - one made of happy faces and seafood recipes and the nauseating smell of overapplied sun cream.

            ‘Eh, do we at least have time for some fishing before we hit the hay?’ Noctis, as predictable as ever. Prompto usually found his penchant for fishing tiresome, but for once, he was happy to accompany him.

 

It was later that night, against the roaring sound of the surf lapping outside their window, that he first felt the drop. A hiss in his ears like radio static, and a tug and tear at his solar plexus like some spirit was attempting to wrench his heart out through his diaphragm. It was enough to make him gasp out where he lay, to make him wonder if he was having a heart attack. It didn’t hurt, strictly speaking, but the pull was utterly alien, enough to make tears smart in the corners of his eyes.

            The others were all asleep. Hardly making a sound - wait, didn’t Gladio usually snore? Prompto breathed out loudly, another gasp, trying to calm the odd sensation spreading through his chest. For some reason, he thought of the eccentric stranger they’d met at the Quay earlier. The self-styled _man of no consequence_. And it wasn’t comfortable, no. He felt compromised by those amber eyes.

            Shifting blue and silver shadows on the ceiling - the reflection of the water through the windows. It made the ceiling seem at once rough and smooth, and for some reason that felt _wrong_. Suddenly that surface seemed only millimetres away from his face - advancing then receding like the waves themselves. Another moment and he couldn’t feel the bed beneath him. He was floating, he had to be.

            He should really get up.

            Deep breath. _Move_.

            The instant he tried, the inertia kicked in at full force, dragging him sideways and straight into a nightmare.

 

 

Everything’s cloudy. He awakes, and a blue-green haze covers his eyes. Where is he? Why can’t he see straight?

            He tries to open his mouth, to say something, but that only leads to a flurry of bubbles releasing all around him.

            So he’s underwater.

            This makes him panic and his first reaction is to flail, to lash out, but for some reason his muscles are all sluggish; his body feels like it’s been dragged through the dirt. Unresponsive. Like unfeeling clay. Why can’t he kick his nerves into motion? He fears he will drown, and he holds his breath as long as he can, preserves those last shreds of air. Then the moment comes where his lungs are burning and his muscles are trembling and he can’t help but gasp, can’t help but succumb to drawing in that turquoise water, letting it fill up inside him.

            It tastes salty. Not like the ocean, but more like one of his sports drinks. It’s… unexpected.

            And it takes him a long, agonizing while before he realises he hasn’t drowned.

            He wants to focus in front of him but the water is too thick. Or is it glass, ahead of him? He gets the uncomfortable feeling he’s not in a lake, or a pool, but a tank of some sort. And he can breathe underwater.

            _This isn’t real._

He tries to urge his deadened nerves alive but they’re caught fast in the undertow of the brine. The only solace he has is the repeating thought that _this isn’t real._ It isn’t real, so it’s okay. He’ll get through.

            A female voice clatters out over an intercom and he’s not sure why the hell he can hear it from through this liquid layer. It’s so cold and tempered: a voice driven into pitch correction and he can almost hear the distortion of the sawtooth waves that comprise it. But at the same time it’s so familiar. Familiar like the amber-eyed man’s voice was familiar. It’s so cold and she’s only reeling off numbers but she may as well be telling him a bedtime story.

            His heart’s jumping an unnatural rhythm in his chest.

_-Unit 05953-_

He flails. Misses the rest of the words. There are instructions. Or a directive. Something like that. But no sooner has the voice ceased than he feels something cold and slick reaching inside his arm. His eyes are wide, but his neck won’t bow down to let him look. Needles?

            The water’s looking fuzzier by the second. It’s getting harder to focus, the colours are moving from turquoise to deep navy blue and it takes only a small moment for him to fall under.

 

 

When Prompto awoke, he was confused. The shape of the ceiling was all wrong, and what was that gentle roaring sound? For one short second all he felt was panic, then he remembered.

            Galdin Quay. The hotel on the pier.

            He’d managed to wrap himself up in the covers like a burrito. Ah - that would explain the tank part of the dream. Wrapped up in his own bedcovers, and with the sounds of rushing waves outside the room, of course he’d have such a dream. It actually seemed… kind of dumb, in retrospect.

            Noctis was struggling to rouse himself from slumber. He looked like he’d had an even worse night, so Prompto said nothing.

            He wouldn’t have had time, anyway. Moments later, Ignis entered the room, face like a tombstone as he held out the morning paper. When Prompto spotted the headline, _Insomnia Falls_ , he felt like he really was drowning. Perhaps the dream was better.

            Noctis cried after that, lashing out at the group in wild hopelessness, and in the wake of his outburst the hotel’s luxury suite became as awkward and silent as a funeral hall. They remained at a loss for what to do, until Noctis announced he wanted to see the city for himself. To check it was true.

            They left after that, and Prompto didn’t mention the dream to anyone.


	2. And We Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prompto learns to fight the hard way. Honestly, his first encounter with a Magitek Trooper was never going to go smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: some nonconsensual medical horror in this chapter, folks.
> 
> Also, say hello to a certain mad scientist.

 

The second time Prompto felt the world shift beneath his feet, he was at the military blockade outside Insomnia. The place was crawling with Imperial soldiers, a fact that Ignis had not failed to point out, but Noctis had been adamant they go. He had to see the fallen city with his own eyes.

            Cor had joined them, and had taken Noctis with him round the back of the compound. The plan was to use Noct’s warping skills to take down the enemies guarding the gate, since it seemed it could only be opened from the other side. In the meantime, the three Crownsguard were to take out the guards on this side. It was a good enough plan, but that did nothing to lessen Prompto’s apprehension.

            ‘They’ve been gone a while.’ Prompto was growing more uncertain by the second. ‘Think everything’s okay?’

            ‘He’s with Cor, of course he’s okay.’

            Prompto held back a derisive snort. If only he could be as assured as Gladio. Cor was a master of the blade, but who knew what awaited them on the other side?

            ‘C’mon. They’re counting on us.’ Gladio’s voice was a low growl; he was simply itching for some action.

            ‘Yes, I think it’s about time.’ Ignis wrung his hands together in preparation. ‘Prompto, ready your weapon. We shall try to merely knock them out, but that might not be the case. Be ready.’

            Prompto gulped. The idea of killing a man was so surreal, such a reach from anything he’d known. Sure, he was one of the Crownsguard now, and he’d been told to expect any eventuality while accompanying Noctis on his journey, but still. He couldn’t wrap his head around it; trying to do so just sent shards of ice into his heart. _Imagine being capable of such a thing…_

            At the same time, hearing the instructions from Ignis made him fall in line. He crouched by the blockade supply boxes, readied his gun. When Ignis and Gladio leapt out and took the soldiers by surprise, he watched with bated breath. Tendons pulled taut in his hands like bowstrings, ready to fly free the moment the directive came.

            It looked like Ignis and Gladio would be able to knock out the entire unit without his help, however. And for this he was glad. The problem wasn’t that he thought he couldn’t do it. It was more that he was afraid of being capable… But anyway. Enough. The last soldier didn’t even have time to raise his gun as Ignis performed an elegant chop to the back of his neck. The soldier sank down, and in the wake of the fall, Ignis and Gladio dusted themselves off.

            Prompto emerged, still unsure if it was safe to call out. He was all ready to clap Ignis on the shoulder, commend him for a job well done, but he didn’t get as far as that. Ignis’s expression had shifted in the space of a second, from quiet, breathless satisfaction to brows-creased-in-worry.

            ‘Above us!’

            ‘Oh, don’t tell me we got more company…’ Gladio groaned, hefted his sword over his shoulder once more.

            ‘What? W-what’s that?’ Prompto followed their gaze up to the maw of the airship that hovered above them, bearing down with every second.

            ‘Imperial dropship. And - ah, it looks like they’ve sent us some Magitek Troopers as a welcoming party.’

            ‘Great. ’Kay, Prompto, these ones you can kill - they’re just machines. Not people.’  

            ‘Not… people?’

            ‘Iggy’ll explain later,’ Gladio yelled, as the first trooper made contact with the ground only metres away, armoured legs absorbing the shock of the fall entirely.

            Prompto stared. The thing was horrific, shifting around in a perverse mockery of human motion, all angles and sharp, abrasive jolts. Like the limbs were all being controlled by some distant puppeteer. Was it a robot, or some weird daemon, or worse?

            _Noct better hurry up and open this door._

            Ignis and Gladio leapt into action and after a moment’s hesitation, Prompto did the same, desperate to prove his training had not all been for nothing. It was strange, how easily the fighting came to him once it had begun. First move: firing off a starshell round to blind them momentarily. In the wake of that, he managed to knock a few of the intimidating human replicas off-balance, saving Gladio from a blow to the side of his head in the process. Still struggling to make a direct hit, though.

            He tried circling round the group, heading towards the blockade wall, approaching the enemy from the blindside while his companions drew their attention away. This was a dumb idea, as it turned out. Something struck the ground by his feet and he whirled round against the wall to find a Magitek Trooper had separated from the main group, and had taken to trailing after him. He finally realised why its arm looked so strange: unlike the rest of the armour, it hid no illusions of a human form beneath it. From below the elbow, the armour was split into bladed sections that seemed to be able to snap open and latch on to its target, split it, tear it apart. Hinges creaked, the blades opened.

            _Shit._ Now he was fenced in while the other two were occupied.

            The trooper clicked its head curiously to the side as it approached him, and he couldn’t help but fixate on it. The face that mask painted looked so uncanny-valley. The shape of the chin, the nose. It disturbed him to the extreme. _Not people, not people._ Gladio’s words reverberated in his head. He couldn’t help but wonder…

            The whirring blades on the creature’s arm started up, speed increasing by the second.

            _No!_

            Panic gripped him and he pulled the trigger, watched in heart-stopping moments as the shell ricocheted off the trooper’s face, dragging half the mask with it. Underneath, black smoke unfurling. And something that looked like a human face, albeit messed up and ravaged by daemonic energy. Again, the shape, so familiar.

            Why was it familiar?

            He panicked, and a dull thud clanged in his chest, clanged like metal. His heart was a drum, filling with water, filling with…

            Eyes back to the group. The other two were over there, weren’t they? Huh. Their names momentarily escaped him. Didn’t matter. Back to the trooper. It was almost upon him, the hissing, seething sounds that left its mouth the only indication it had been affected by the first shot. Its bastardised arm was raised, the blades cutting the dusty air.

            It was going to kill him.

            Override that. _Now._

He pulled the trigger, and that was the moment the world shifted. The Magitek Trooper fell to the ground shrieking, tar and smoke escaping its body like air hissing from a balloon, and while it twitched out into nothingness before him, Prompto felt his body lurch, felt it get dragged sideways and pulled deep under a layer of the universe he didn’t even know had existed.

 

 

He doesn’t know where he is any more, and he panics. Everything had been so loud only moments ago - why? Had he been fighting? It hurts to think. Something is sinking into his veins, cold and soothing and forcing temperance upon him.

            He tries to stretch open his eyelids. It’s dark. Grimy. Smells like motor oil. There’s a small sliver of light up ahead and he tries to focus on it but it’s racing away from him, fast as anything. A flash of feathered gold before his eyes, and he doesn’t know what that means. But his head hurts, right between the eyes. He’s pretty sure half his face is missing and he has no idea what that even means, nor why he feels like that’s true. His arm hurts when he tries to raise it to his face to check. So he tries harder, but the nerves are all stubbed below the elbow and there’s something dull and heavy weighing the limb down. Then comes a sound, loud and screaming in his ears, and his heart vibrates a rhythm so fast it can’t be real. The soothing liquid in his veins overtakes everything, stills his beating heart, drags him into the grimy darkness, far away from that last flash of golden light.

 

 

Everything snapped into focus, harsh as switching a light bulb on in a darkened room. Prompto blinked. He was rubbing his arm, feeling it tingling like crazy. The air was dusty and the firm concrete beneath his knees lay scattered with burnished grains of sand. Leide. Outside the blockade. Noctis was kneeling before him, Cor off to the side, and a wide array of floored soldiers lay haphazardly around them. It seemed they’d won.

            ‘You okay, Prompto?’

            He wanted to throw his arms round Noctis in that instant. Seeing him there, tired, thankfully uninjured, and so concerned for him, it was a tonic for his frantic nerves. Truly.

            His right arm still felt weighed down, and he lacked the energy to reach for Noctis. Gods, he felt like crying from the frustration there and then.

            ‘Did you get injured?’ Ignis’s voice was so calm, so measured. Prompto found himself responding to this immediately.

            ‘No… I just…’ He trailed off. What was there to say?

            Ignis touched his arm and he shivered.

            ‘Paresthesia,’ said Ignis. ‘Simple pins and needles. Don’t worry, it’s quite a common thing. Especially in such an overwhelming situation.’

            ‘Yeah, it’s just nerves,’ Gladio added.

_Don’t treat me like a child._

Prompto countered his own frustration by shaking his arm off, forcing it into motion. When he moved it, there was no resistance, no extra weight, unlike what his mind was so keen on telling him. The whole thing was just stupid, and so embarrassing. His first proper fight, and he had to go and glitch out like that. He could really do with a rest. And a soda. Something sugary and full of energy.

            The ground still seemed unsteady beneath his feet when he stood up, but he kept his mouth shut. The skies were darkening as they made their way through the breached barricade and on to get a view of Insomnia. Soft raindrops falling on his skin now, and at first he panicked, mistook them for more unexplained tingling. But no, it was okay. Noctis was leading the group far too quickly, and it was as clear as anything that he was over-anxious. Prompto picked up the pace. Time to torture themselves by watching Insomnia burn.

 

 

Time has passed, and now there’s that cooling sensation in his veins again. His eyes, heavy-lidded, hard to open. There’s a fog, like the rainy fog that had settled over Insomnia’s fallen buildings when he’d looked out over the carnage. It doesn’t dissipate, but grows more saturated until it’s back to that intense turquoise shade. He’s in the tank again.

            The woman’s voice, hard and cold, echoes in his ears through the thick, salty water.

            _-Unit destabilisation occurring at approximately 03:53. Increase tranquilisation protocol to Level II-_

Now the cooling’s increasing, little crystals of ice spreading through his body. The tingling, the… what did the man with the glasses call it again? Paresthesia.

            He drifts.

 

 

A sharp stab to his arm snaps his eyes open again, and this time he’s not in the tank. It’s grimy, the walls are streaked with oil, and the smell is overwhelming, makes him want to be sick.

            He snaps his head to the side so he can see his arm, and the movement is creaky and stilted. Takes such effort. He realises with a visceral jolt that he can’t lift his arm because it’s tied, strapped down to some plank, some hard surface. A rig of some kind. Skin’s bared, and a black dotted line demarcates the joint of his elbow, laid out in thick marker pen. He has little time to wonder why. There’s the grinding of gears and the surface of the strange rig he’s mounted upon stretches out, pulls him taut like string. He tries to struggle, but the pull on his joints has him so painfully incapable of movement, and he is reduced to making fretful noises instead.

            There’s a haggard old man with white hair in front of him and he’s muttering under his breath. He’s irritated, that much is clear, and after a moment of glowering at him, he returns to fiddling with something on a table. What is he, a scientist of some sort?

            ‘You do know it’s hardly the creature’s fault if it struggles. Look at it, it’s scared!’ That voice, viscous as tar. Familiar. He snaps his eyes upward, sees a figure silhouetted against the room’s iron-barred door. The figure steps forward and he recognises him - it’s the man from the pier, his hair like flakes of dried blood. He moves like flickering candlelight, an odd thing for such a large man, and it’s like having an unusually twitchy bug in the room. A jumping spider, perhaps. It’s uncomfortable, and hard to determine exactly how much of a threat it is. He feels familiarity; he wants to rush up and have this man gather him up in his warm coat and it’s an awful thought, but it flares in his mind nonetheless. But he knows this man is dangerous.

            ‘Damn thing won’t stay still,’ the old scientist mutters in response. ‘I can’t focus!’

            ‘Well, I shan’t stand in your way. Although, permit me to watch. I do so like this model, in fact, it might be your best creation.’

            The old man grunts, and picks up a tool from the table, turns back to face him. The tool is large and heavy; it takes all the man’s strength to heft it up.

            There’s sharp teeth on the end of it, and he recognises it in a flash. A circular saw. The blood drains from his face. He thinks about the words he wants to say, they rise like yeast to the top of his head but when he tries to send them down to his mouth it won’t work. He’s mute, he’s restrained, and he’s about to suffer.

            The saw’s teeth whir, edge nearer to his flesh. Every hair on his skin bristles.

            Then the first bite, catching on skin before slicing through, and it’s so much worse than he imagined it would be. He’s being torn apart, he’s being carved up by this terrifying machine and he can’t even scream.

          

 

There was a loud noise filling Prompto’s ears and he found himself upright on a soft mattress, hands clasped over his ears to shut out the sound of his own screaming. Huh, so he _could_ scream after all.

            The room was humid and dark and he was all tangled in bedcovers laced with sweat. Noctis was there, perched on the bed in front of him, holding his shoulders. His face was absolutely stricken.

            ‘It’s okay, Prom. Shh.’

            He wasn’t so sure. He touched his arm, checked it was all there, muttering curses under his breath repeatedly. The pain was too real.

            ‘They tore my arm off, Noct!’

            ‘Prompto, it’s just a bad dream.’

            He stared wide-eyed at Noctis, his voice cracking. ‘I’m not so sure… oh gods, don’t let me go back!’

            Noctis gripped his hands softly, although he could feel the strain beneath it. He’d worried him, hadn’t he? Prompto sniffed, let his hands be held, and tried to calm himself. He was in Hammerhead, that much was clear by the smell of sawdust and car parts drifting up from the workshop below. But why above the workshop? And why with the smell of oil? For a moment it made him panic, and he looked around, had to check again that the straps weren’t holding his arms down. No. He was okay. Noctis was here.

            ‘Cindy let us stay here instead of the caravan,’ Noctis reminded him gently. ‘She was worried about you, after the fight. We, uh… we all were.’

            A knock at the door. Creaking. Then an old, creased face. White hair. Harsh countenance.

            Prompto stuttered and edged backwards on the bed.

            ‘No! I - Stay away, stay away… please…’

            ‘Prompto, it’s only Cid. Remember?’

            Cid scratched his head. ‘What’d I do? Kid havin’ some bad dreams?’

            ‘Uh. Something like that,’ Noctis said.

            The hard lines on Cid’s face softened.

            ‘Now, kid, whass’yer name? Prompto, was it? I ain’t gonna hurt’cha. Okay?’

            Prompto breathed out, blinked, took in his surroundings one more time. The pain in his arm was subsiding, ebbing away like a receding tide. Bit by aching bit.

            ‘Y-yeah. Okay.’

            ‘Well. Y’all get some sleep now. Got quite the journey ahead of you tomorrow.’


	3. Diesel and Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coincidental meeting at the Lestallum lookout point turns out not to be so coincidental after all.  
> In which Prompto confronts the 'man of no consequence', who he believes is the cause of his weird visions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oshit, badtouch!

 

Lestallum’s dusty haze beckoned them in like a mother welcoming children back from play. The sun, low and glinting off the crystal in the Disc of Cauthess, the smell of meat sizzling on skewers, the promise of evening revelry from jocular tourists and tired workers just off their shifts. As the Regalia pulled into a spare parking spot, Ignis sighed deeply.

            ‘Ah, I could very much go for another of those prairie skewers tonight.’

            ‘Fine with me,’ Noctis murmured.

            Ignis killed the engine, smiled broadly. It was the perfect photo op - he wasn’t used to seeing the man smile. Prompto snapped the shot faster than Ignis could blink, and before the Advisor could reprimand him, he pushed his shoulder playfully, and said, ‘Didn’t think you were into street food.’

            ‘Yes, well. It’s cheap and delicious - what’s not to like?’

            ‘C’mon then! Gladio, you up for a bite too?’

            All in agreement, they headed for the stone stairway that led to Lestallum’s main thoroughfare. But, approaching the walls with their rows of tattered posters and the potted palm trees bordering the walkway, Prompto was overcome with a familiar, rousing sensation. It was like smelling the fragrance of an old house once lived in. He felt a yearning to go in the direction of the feeling. So nebulous, but it was clearly drawing him towards the outlook point. Tunnel vision descended, and in a flash he was gazing down a long corridor. A faculty of some kind, and it would have seemed clinical if not for the warm sun lighting it up from the far end.

            He blinked. He was back at the foot of the steps. The dust haze still shrouded him and the pull, like wanderlust, to go and gaze out at the Disc of Cauthess still dragged at his navel. He tugged on Noctis’s shirt before his friend went too far ahead.

            ‘Wait, I wanna go check out the Disc first.’

            Ignis turned sharply.

            ‘Well, that’s up to Noct.’

            ‘’S’why I asked him.’

            Noctis was busy clutching his head. Another headache? Prompto sprang up a step, draped an arm over his shoulders.

            ‘Dude, if you don’t wanna, we can wait.’

            ‘No. The view’d probably help.’ Noctis pinched the bridge of his nose, and let Prompto drag him towards the lookout point.

 

 

When they reached the lookout, disbelief dropped like a stone in Prompto’s stomach. The man of no consequence was there, hair seeming more blood-red than usual under the dying sun. He was minding his own business, leaning on the stone railing, watching the Disc with such a mournful expression on his face, an expression that dropped abruptly when the group came into full view. He turned to greet them, spreading his arms wide in a casual, reaching gesture.

            ‘What a coincidence.’

            Prompto felt a knot tighten in his belly. There was something off about the way the man performed his greeting, like he was following a stage direction, like this was all scripted. He edged backward, let Gladio take the lead, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. This wasn’t bashfulness, it was straight-up fear.

            ‘Doesn’t seem that way to me,’ Gladio muttered, but the man merely grinned. He shrugged, cast a hand up into the air like he was conducting an orchestra, and began to recite something in a calm, measured, elegant tone. A nursery rhyme. Prompto felt the hairs on his skin bristle.

            _‘From the deep, the Archaean calls,_

_‘Yet on deaf ears the god’s tongue falls,_

_‘The king, made to kneel, in pain he crawls.’_

            It was inappropriate and disturbing as hell, especially the way it was so clearly aimed at Noctis, and yet the sound of his voice was lulling Prompto in like gentle ocean waves. It was comforting. _Feels like coming home._

            He had jumped closer without even realising, a question spilling from his lips the instant the rhyme ended.

            ‘So, how do we keep him on his feet?’

            The stranger leant in with equal measure, and though it only lasted a few seconds it felt a lifetime too long. He was so much taller, more so than Gladio, even. The way he reacted to Prompto’s enthusiasm, it was like he was keen to match him. Or to remind him of… something, he wasn’t sure what. When the man looked at him and smiled, his right arm felt freshly numb and his shoulder sockets strained and he remembered. The dream, the vision, whatever it was, present right behind his eyelids. The circular saw and the scientist and this man, yes, it really was this man, with his hair like ichor and his cruel, amused grin.

            If it was just a dream, why was his arm tingling like this? He doubted he’d even be able to grip his gun at this point. So much for being a Royal bodyguard.

            While Prompto’s worries rushed through his head like a waterfall, the man advised them to heed the Archaean’s call. ‘You’ll need to go to the Disc.’ Then, with a flourish, and a piercing glance aimed at Noctis, ‘I can take you.’

            Noctis agreed, which seemed to make the man incredibly happy.       

            ‘Marvellous. Now, before we leave, it won’t do to omit proper introductions. Especially as I have all of you at a disadvantage. I know who you are.’ Another flash of those intense eyes towards Prompto. ‘You may call me Ardyn.’

            Something flickered into life at the back of Prompto’s mind, and he felt like he was falling. He was crashing down as the tarmac loosened beneath him and nobody was noticing, none of his friends would get there in time to catch him. He -

 

He can see that corridor again. Now the light of the sun is behind him, and the scent of decay fills his nostrils. It’s so dark up ahead, but then he sees a red flame, flickering, lighting the way. It’s not attached to the wall, and it flickers, then pixellates, seems to malfunction. It’s a call, and he has to answer it.

            He walks towards the hovering hologram. His joints creak with every step, so loudly he wonders if he’s been injured. But he feels no pain, and while this should put his mind at ease, instead it makes him panic.

            There’s a repetitive, deep crunching in the air, like someone’s fashioning a drum out of an old oil canister and banging it to a rhythm. He is instantly reminded of factories, of production lines. Not that he’d know, really. Barring a - what was it, a school trip once, long ago? - he hadn’t ever experienced such a thing. A cool, musty breeze blowing up the passageway. The strong smell of kerogen - of crude oil and decomposing plant matter - permeates his senses, seems to settle on his skin like a coat of paint and he’d scratch it off if he could, but his arms are heavy.

            His legs are heavy too, dead weights that he can barely feel, but somehow they have no problem moving forward.

            This is a roll call. And he will respond.

 

‘Prompto, what on earth are you doing?’

            A tug on his shoulder brought him to attention and he blinked, looked around in confusion for a second, unsure of where he was. He took stock. Ignis, beside him, hand on his shoulder firmly. The others, looking confused, worried, just behind him. Coolness of metal beneath his hand. He looked down: he was alongside a tacky old maroon sports car, and he had the door to the passenger’s side pulled open, as if he’d been about to jump in.

            ‘My, someone’s eager.’

            He flushed at Ardyn’s words. The man stood casually on the driver’s side, hand loosely on his hip in a way that reminded Prompto far too uncomfortably of Noctis. And he continued to speak, to goad Prompto.

            ‘I’m flattered, honestly. But the fare would undoubtedly be more than you bargained for. So allow me the pleasure of assigning your driver.’ He pointed at Noctis, and motioned for them to return to their own car. Prompto stuttered - he wanted to apologise, to defend his weird actions, but he settled for saying nothing and falling in line.

            Ardyn told them to follow close behind, and with that they were off, cars pulling out of the lazy Lestallum streets in what was undoubtedly the strangest Royal convoy to ever exist.

            It didn’t take long for the party to start discussing their strange new benefactor. Noctis, in particular, was not impressed.

            ‘I don’t trust this ‘Ardyn’ at all. What a creep.’

            ‘Well, we have no choice. Even if he is rather… unconventional, to say the least.’

            Gladio snorted. ‘And his car’s a wreck. Who even drives a shitty thing like that these days, anyways?’

            ‘Yeah, about that car.’ Noctis paused, sighed. ‘You just… raced off without us, Prom. What was that all about?’ Noctis sounded hurt, and it made Prompto’s stomach twist.

            ‘I… I dunno, man. I don’t really…’ He trailed off. How could he possibly explain himself? He hadn’t meant to do it, but he could sense it really wasn’t the time to start talking about some crazy-ass dream he’d had. No matter how real it had seemed. Noctis just looked annoyed, and Gladio was lost in the scenery again, but Ignis was looking at him with considerable suspicion. He laughed off the attention. ‘Heh, master of great life decisions over here, huh?’

            ‘Yeah, got that right.’ At least Noctis had a faintly amused smile on his face now. Ignis still said nothing, still watched him curiously. Damn, the man was sharp. He could practically see the gears grinding in his head, trying to piece it all together.

            ‘Hey, man. Sorry I worried you.’ Prompto added a touch more sincerity into his voice - he didn’t want them to think he wasn’t taking it entirely seriously - then he fell into silence for the rest of the trip.

 

Fifteen minutes later the situation had gone from bad to worse.

            ‘So we make camp… with Ardyn.’ Prompto wasn’t overly enthused at the prospect, but the man had requested they stay overnight at a Coernix gas station before continuing onward to the Disc.

            Gladio merely grunted his agreement. It was clear he wasn’t bothered about outwardly showing his distrust. Noctis had narrowed his eyes beneath that dark, choppy fringe and was all but sulking in the back seat as they pulled up to the gas station. Only Ignis kept face, and Prompto supposed someone had to.

            ‘Come on. Out we go,’ Ignis urged him, and he shuffled reluctantly out the car, aware he was acting cagey. He watched Ardyn from a distance, thinking all the while about the nightmare, or the vision, or whatever it was. Now he’d be stuck with the man for an entire evening.

            Well, if this wasn’t the perfect opportunity to glean some information about it, he didn’t know what was.

            Ardyn informed them he’d already booked the caravan, because of course he had. Damn thing was planned from the start, wasn’t it? As they retrieved their belongings, he even had the audacity to smirk. Not even trying to hide it.

            ‘Oh, now, this feels like a road trip!’

            Prompto didn’t like Ardyn looking so pleased with himself. It put him on edge, made him feel like the weather was changing, on the cusp of a storm. He walked past him, giving as wide a berth as possible. There would be time for talking later, but right now he wanted to help Iggy sort the rental caravan’s poky kitchen, focus on something mundane, give the whole bizarre situation some time to really sink in.

 

Ignis always knew how to rustle up appetizing meals with only the barest of seasonings, and today was no exception. Tenderloin steak fit for a king, and it was delicious. Would’ve been even more delicious if Ardyn hadn’t been making oddly suggestive remarks throughout, but he didn’t want to fixate on that. He finished his food, albeit much more slowly than the others.

            There was silence for a while. Then Noctis stood up.

            ‘Gonna get a sports drink from the gas station. Head’s still killing me.’

            ‘Doesn’t sound like a bad idea,’ said Gladio, in mid-stretch of his muscled arms. ‘I’ll join you. Prom, you in?’

            ‘Oh! Yeah, I’ll, uh… I’ll be there in a minute.’

            Ignis started clearing up their plates.

            ‘A marvellous meal,’ Ardyn commented. Such an epitome of politeness as Ignis lifted the plate from before him. And Ignis, an equal epitome of hospitality;

            ‘Most gracious of you. I do try my best.’

            And then it was just Prompto and Ardyn, sitting across the table from each other. Prompto fiddled with the buttons on his jacket awkwardly. He had to say something. And he had to do it before the others returned.

            ‘Ardyn.’ He spoke the name like a statement, not a question, and the way the man’s eyebrows raised made his skin crawl. He continued regardless. No choice but to plough on now. ‘Can I ask you something?’

            ‘By all means.’

            Then the ferocity of the vision returned, and he was plunged straight back into the cold, raw fear of it. Being face to face with the memory made him angry.

            ‘I saw you.’ He spoke through clenched teeth, trying hard not to seethe, although that wasn’t really working. ‘I saw you - you were there when he… when he…’

            Fuck, how was he meant to broach the subject? _I saw you in some freaky dream I had, and, oh yeah, it involved a dungeon. With straps and shit._ Yeah, that didn’t sound inappropriate at all.

            ‘My dear, you ought to speak up. I can’t understand you when you’re stuttering like that.’

            His knee was jiggling under the table. He pressed the flat of his palm down on it, attempted to still the movement. If only he wasn’t so agitated.

            ‘You dreamt about me, did you?’

            ‘I… Yeah.’ No point in denying it.

            ‘Tell me, what did the walls look like? Brown and metallic? Or perhaps white and clinical? Or maybe a deep ocean blue.’

            _What kind of question was this?_ He paused before answering, his head spinning.

            ‘Uh… all of the above? I guess. I - when you were there it was… it was grimy. Like a workshop.’ The instant he’d said it, it felt like oversharing, and he resented it, resented the power it stripped from him.

            ‘Oh now, this is interesting.’

            It wasn’t interesting, it was frustrating, and it made Prompto want to claw at his skin. But honestly, he’d had enough of turning inward. He tried to keep his voice low, but it was difficult.

            ‘How the hell do you know all this? Was it real?’ He realised he was gripping his arm again, around the elbow, rubbing to stop the phantom sensations running across it. ‘This only started since Galdin Quay,’ he muttered, and he couldn’t purge the bitterness from his voice.

            ‘You really think I’m the cause of this? Oh, my dear boy, you must surely remember all the times in your childhood when it’s happened before.’

            It had?

            He cast his mind back. There was something faint, indistinct, some fear of going to the doctor’s office. A nightmare about going to the dentist. But that was pretty normal fare for kids. _Oh._ There was the weird moment at the school swimming pool. He’d panicked because the water was so turquoise, because the chlorine had reminded him of something. He’d fainted. Nearly drowned. Had to be rescued by a rather shaken gym teacher.

            Now, all he could think about when he remembered this was the damn tank. Was that why it was so familiar to him? Had he been dreaming about it for much longer than he’d thought?

            Ardyn leaned in closer until Prompto could see the fine detail of the stubble on his chin. He focussed on Prompto’s eyes and said, ‘Which one are you? Oh, I wonder.’

            ‘W-what do you mean?’

            ‘Ah, how interesting. Well, there’s one way to find out. Let’s see if you remember this in the morning.’

            Then Ardyn raised a hand to the air and gave a small flourish, and a purple-black mist descended upon the campsite, stalling time itself and warping the space around them. The passing clouds quite literally ground to a halt, unmoving in the air. Wind chill stilled upon his cheek. People in the distance, walking to and from the station, paused with their limbs in mid-swing. Prompto gasped. He stood up, backed away.

            ‘What did you…’

            Ardyn rose to match him, fencing him in against the caravan’s frame.

            ‘Merely an experiment,’ he said, and the way his fingers traced over Prompto’s shoulders gave the distinct impression those words meant so much more.

            He shrugged the man off, slid away from his grasp. Would have considered running, but where to? The world was stalled. He gestured round at the frozen diorama.

            ‘Put it back!’

            But Ardyn merely smiled.

            ‘Come, we’ve barely begun.’

            He reached for Prompto’s hand, stepping closer once more. Too close. The look in his eyes was ravenous, and Prompto really wasn’t as naïve as he imagined people thought. He knew what this meant.

            ‘No! No fucking way!’

            He pushed back and was overpowered, spun round, grabbed with terrifying strength, and for an awful blur of seconds all he felt were hands, harsh touches landing everywhere. Then it stopped.

            Ardyn was holding him close from behind, arms clamped down over his own, preventing movement. His face was angled upward to gaze at the moon, which was shimmering in a purple-hazed distortion, like it was being viewed from underwater.

            ‘Just look at how beautiful it is out here, with no one to interrupt us.’

            Now Ardyn was swaying slightly, face buried in his hair, in the crook of his shoulder, lips softly dragging on his skin. It felt utterly revolting, like his skin was being tarnished with every touch.

            He strained against Ardyn’s grip and again came up unsuccessful. It reminded him too much of the vision, of being restrained on that unnatural device, and he couldn’t bear it. This was wrong. This was unwanted.

            ‘Stop! Just… stop.’

            Miraculously, Ardyn obeyed, and withdrew instead of going any further. He released his hold, eyes glinting as Prompto twitched and shook him off, leapt back with all the finesse of a creaky-jointed wooden doll, tensed, wary, ready to run. Ardyn merely gave a smug grin, then raised his right hand again, made that same flourishing movement.

            ‘Like I said, it’s only an experiment.’

            Then the gravity well sunk deep into the centre of the camping table, drawing the world in to eclipse around it. Dark mulberry colours blossoming in the space around him, the colours of bruises. The strain as the world kicked into gear, began to revolve normally again. Prompto felt himself drag and twist, and he clenched his jaw tight, awaiting the moment he would snap back to reality.

 

He almost cries when he finds himself back in the blue water again. He’s sure this is a dream, and it would make sense after what happened with Ardyn. Feels colder than usual, though.

            There’s a face hovering through the glass in front of him, and he struggles to make out the shape. His eyes feel useless in this cloudy haze, and if he focusses too hard, the chemicals in the water sting.

            _-Irregular brain wave activity. Administering serelaxin, dose increase fifty milligrams-_

            He wants to call out. If he could, he’d say ‘Mother,’ he’d try to reach out for the voice, try to make it like him, make it want him.

            The figure in front of him is not where the voice is coming from. He doesn’t see the mouth moving.

            Then, ice in his veins once more, and his muscles are forced to relax. It feels pleasant, and he hates this fact. He doesn’t want to fall. He wants the beautiful boy with his messy black hair to hold him close, to purge the memory of blood and saltwater from his body.

            The figure before him watches a handheld screen of some sort. Curly brown hair frames a petite, rounded face like a halo, and she hovers, wait a moment, until the screen shows her what she’s waiting for. He sees a small smile, or at least, he thinks it’s a smile. Then words come, free of the distortion the Mother-intercom holds.

            ‘That’s better. Sleep, now.’

 

Ardyn is already waiting for them by the gas station’s meagre shop when they awake the following morning.

            ‘What a marvellous night that was, don’t you think, Prompto? Outdoors, under the stars.’ Ardyn, goading him with bright eyes.

            His blood curdles in his veins.

            ‘What’s this guy talking about?’ Gladio, suspicious.

            ‘Don’t ask me, dude. I just played King’s Knight all evening. This guy,’ and here Prompto jerks his thumb toward Ardyn, with all the petulance of an ignored child, ‘wasn’t even interested. Kinda boring, if you ask me.’

            Why is he denying what happened?

            Prompto realises with horror that he’s watching himself from inside his own eyes. He wants to scream _This man hurt me, he touched me, he had his lips on my skin,_ but it’s like trying to fight upstream against a raging current. _Oh god, why can’t I say what I want to?_ The feeling drives him to sickness but he can’t even retch. He has no control over his body; it’s as though someone else has taken up residence there.

            ‘Ah, youth.’ Ardyn sighs and fiddles with his lapel. ‘Perhaps one day you shall learn to appreciate the outdoors.’

            ‘I appreciate it just fine,’ growls Gladio. Ardyn waves him away, then suggests they get back on the road. Prompto’s helplessly trying to urge his body to move the way he wants it to as they make their way onward to the crater, but no. He’s stuck watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have wanted to write an explanation for Prompto's weird behaviour in Lestallum for a very long time. The fact that his character is scripted to be the ONLY one who follows Ardyn to his car without waiting for Noct (the player) to move, it's just plain weird. I like to think it's the game's early way of hinting that he's Magitek, but I also like to think he had some insurmountable directive override his brain at that moment...


	4. Like Leda We Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Noctis notices something is wrong, and Prompto tries desperately to cope with lost time in the short reprieve they have before reaching Altissia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is actually going to be six chapters instead of five, I undercalculated.  
> Anyway. Promptis. There ya go ;)

Prompto was back in his own body again.

            The last few days had been hellish. He knew they’d petitioned Ramuh for his power, then retrieved the Regalia from a military base. He knew they’d met Ardyn again - he remembered hiding behind Gladio for that one.

            But the moments in between were less distinct. He’d had flashes of visions, scenes in front of his eyes that had started out distantly, hazy as a mirage on the horizon at first, then moving from a whisper to a scream with all the terrifying force of an oncoming train. Sometimes he even swore he could hear a static buzz beforehand, like that of overhead power lines. It put him in mind of an incoming phone signal, pre-empting some important call he ought to pick up.

            And then he’d be dropped straight into the scene like he’d always been there.

            Often it was easy enough to pretend to the others that nothing was happening. More so when it felt he wasn’t behind the steering wheel in his own body, because at least then he didn’t need to worry about taking action, he could just let the scene play out. Last thing he wanted to do was cause a fuss: Leviathan’s trial was coming up next, and Noctis was not coping well. It wasn’t just the mental strain of the pact with the Astrals, it was the physical pain, the fatigue. He’d known Noct long enough to know when he was downplaying it.

            The sky tonight reminded him of Ramuh’s storm. He saw rain, falling in sheets. Skies darkening, that strong petrol-green staining its way into the scenery. For a moment he thought he saw Noctis’s eyes glowing purple, coursing with the energy of the storm. Mild panic filled him, because it looked familiar and he couldn’t remember why. So he fumbled for the camera, leafed through the shots saved on the device until he found the memory. Noctis, receiving the Fulgurian’s blessing. Ah, it really was great timing on that shot. He smiled to himself.

            ‘Careful you don’t get your camera too wet.’ Ignis, drinking his coffee from a thermos, watching him like a hawk.

            He tucked the camera away, and turned his attention back to the group. The five of them - wait, when did Iris get here? - were sitting round a campfire under the trees, raincoats pulled up over their heads. The air smelled different somehow, and he couldn’t quite place it. A new flower or shrub he wasn’t used to, maybe.

            He didn’t know where he was.

            Panic, again, as he tried to remember. And there, he felt that familiar sensation, the twinge in his elbow. He instinctively moved his opposite arm to rub it gently, to try and exorcise the tingling. Felt like nettle stings. Again, there were the other, lesser pains that made themselves present alongside this; behind his right eye, at the centre of his forehead, between the ribs, and right through the heart. And a new one this time, a dull ache in his jaw. He couldn’t accurately remember the scene that had given him that sensation, but trying to seek out the memory brought nausea, and he decided he was okay not remembering.

            ‘Prompto, what’s the matter?’ Ignis looked stern as he spoke, and at first Prompto thought he’d done something wrong.

            ‘Yeah, uh… My arm’s just tingling a bit. That, uh, that word you said last time. Whatever it was. Got that again.’

            ‘Odd. Last time I asked you about your paresthesias, you said you didn’t know what on earth I was talking about.’

            ‘Weird. Maybe I just forgot?’

            Ignis was looking at him with that incredibly worried expression. ‘Perhaps it’s the machinery. You ought to take a break from using it so much during battle.’

            ‘Yeah, that stuff can give a mean trigger finger if you overdo it,’ Gladio added. Prompto was lost. _Machinery?_ The hell were they talking about? He had his guns, but he got the feeling that wasn’t what they meant.

            He scanned his brain for answers, for any memory that could aid him. Nothing rose to the surface.

            ‘Circular saw’s a bitch.’ Noctis spoke up from his mug of coffee, and the words struck Prompto to the core. The memory of the mad scientist and his arm, the sensation of it ripping and tearing as the saw cut in…

            ‘Wha… what did you say?’

            _Try not to make it too obvious, Prom_.

            ‘The circular saw,’ Noctis repeated. He sounded too exhausted to register Prompto’s suspicion, but his response didn’t exactly make things any clearer.

            ‘Yes, I must admit, the last thing I expected was to see you pick that thing up in Fort Vaullurey,’ Ignis added. ‘Although it did appear to get us out of a tricky situation with the Commander.’

            ‘Surprised you could handle it,’ said Gladio.

            ‘You really do have a knack for that sort of thing.’ Ignis was trying to compliment him, but Prompto could feel his eyebrows knitting upward, could feel the tension tightening across his shoulder blades, threatening to spill over into reality and make him twitch. As the conversation hit a dead end, he wondered if his discomfort was at all obvious. What if he was dreaming this whole thing - or if it was another one of Ardyn’s tricks? He couldn’t imagine ever picking up one of those saws, not with what it meant to him, so why was everyone insisting he’d done so, and worse, used it to fight with? He felt horribly unsteady all of a sudden, as though the plastic fold-out chair he sat upon would flex too far and buckle beneath him. And it felt like everyone was expecting an answer out of him, one he couldn’t give.

            Gladio broke the moment by sneezing into his cup noodles and immediately cursing his luck. Iris giggled.

            Good. Time to distract everyone with a change of topic.

            ‘So, uh, what’s the plan tomorrow?’ He still didn’t know where he was, and he wanted to get his answers as subtly as possible. As he spoke, he noticed Noctis recoil into his coffee. Ignis cleared his throat.

            ‘We leave early for Cape Caem, and board the boat to Altissia.’

            Prompto sighed, tried not to make it sound too casual. ‘Last night out under the stars, huh? Figures it’d rain.’

            ‘Yeah. Got that right.’ Gladio grunted into his ruined noodles, then waved the cup at Ignis. ‘Hey, Iggy, we got any more of these?’

            ‘I’m afraid that was the last one.’

            A grunt of frustration, then Gladio rose to clear his things away.

            ‘Ugh, I’m getting soaked.’ Noctis headed into the tent.

            ‘Iris, are you okay?’ Prompto asked mostly because he noticed nobody had spoken to her in a while. If at all. She beamed when the attention was turned to her, and there was something grateful and innocent there, like she didn’t expect to be given a second glance. It would’ve made him sad if he wasn’t so insanely pleased he’d managed to make her smile.

            ‘Yeah. I kinda like the rain.’

            She stayed in her seat, drinking slowly while the others cleared up and returned to the dry cover of the tent, and then it was just the two of them. Prompto was strangely comfortable in the silence, and he took the opportunity to inspect his surroundings as the rain slowed to a stop.

There was a river down below the campsite, and a small bridge that led to a narrow passage between the trees. A signpost with wide lettering that, if he squinted, he could just about make out. _Malmalam Thicket_ , it read. He had no idea where that was on Eos, but he guessed it was somewhere south. It had to be en route to Cape Caem, at any rate. Should’ve paid more attention in Geography.

            Iris shuffled her chair closer. The both of them now sat on the outer edge of the campfire, far enough from the tent for her to whisper her question safely out of earshot of the others.

            ‘You, uh, like Noct, don’t you?’

            ‘Huh?’ He stared at her, feeling his cheeks grow warm, hearing a loud pounding start up in his ears. The moment lasted too long and damn, that made it more obvious. Iris giggled.

            ‘You have that look in your eyes when you talk to him. Y’know, I kinda like him too, but… I’m not interested in him that way any more.’ She sighed, looked up at the cloudy sky, then blinked awkwardly as a leftover drop of rainwater slid off some high-branched leaf and into her eye. They both laughed.

            Then Iris said, ‘You should tell him, sometime.’

            ‘Yeah.’ He laughed again, cringing at the shakiness in his voice. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

            ‘I’m serious. You should tell him.’

            ‘I’d have to get pretty drunk first, haha.’ Then his smile dropped. ‘But I can’t. Not the day before he goes to meet his bride, I mean, c’mon.’ He hugged his knees.

            ‘Guess you’re right. But,’ and here she gave him a cheeky grin, ‘he’s a prince. There’s a difference between what he wants and what he has to do. Remember that, okay?’

            He didn’t really get why, but he nodded nonetheless. ‘Sure.’

            ‘I am actually getting a bit drenched now. Gonna head to bed.’

            ‘Night.’ He waved after her, and then he was all alone, watching ripples disturb the surface of the river under the low light. Navy shadows everywhere, accompanied by pale blue reflections of the campsite’s protective runes. That fresh, muggy smell that always rose up from wet soil after the rain. It was tranquil here in the thicket, but watching the ripples reminded him of that first feeling he’d had in Galdin Quay. Like it would be lost, and all he had to do was look away for a second too long. There was apprehension there, hiding just below the surface.

            _I’m not interested in him that way any more_. Iris’s words echoed around the inside of his skull. Was he just being dense? What if the reason she said that was because she thought Noctis liked him too?

            Up above the campsite, the clouds were clearing, and a half-moon shone its light onto the river in wavy arcs.

            Gods, what if Noctis did like him? If that was true, Iris’s parting words to him just now would also make a lot more sense. But he couldn’t imagine it being true at all, for one glaringly obvious reason.

            He wasn’t anything special.

The exact moment things changed was hard to place. One minute there were the ripples on the glassy water, and the next, the silver light on the water shifted to become the tank’s frame. With the first stab of cold water, his mind rebelled.

_No, no, come on, not again. Please!_

            But it’s too late. He’s in. He’s in the nightmare and there’s a beeping sound breaking through the liquid to reach his ears with a distorted scream and everything’s blue except for this one red pulse in the distance. A warning light, but what for?

            The woman with the curly hair is there in front of him again, studying him through the cloudy glass. She’s wearing a lab coat and she’s short - she has to tiptoe to see him properly. Her lips are pouted, and it looks like she’s chewing her tongue anxiously as she monitors him. She catches his eye, but it’s only to check the dilation of his pupils. His hopeful gaze gets no return. She tuts softly. ‘Dammit,’ she mutters, then she looks off to the side. Yells. ‘You gave it epinephrine?’ A yell back. Indistinct. Masculine. Old. He strains but he can’t see who it is, and he fears it’s the man who hurt him before. She responds by shouting ‘I don’t care,’ and proceeding to scan through something on her handheld device.

            He tries to grapple for control. There’s tubes inserted into his skin, at points along his arms and he wants to tear them off. His heart’s racing, double-beats all tripping over each other, and his muscles are twitching like frightened rabbits. No sooner than he realises he can move do his arms reach for the tubes, attempting to rip them out. But his motions are slow, despite the jolt of adrenaline, and no match for the woman on the other side of the glass presses buttons hurriedly on her handheld device, and within seconds the relaxing chill enters his veins once more. It’s a bitter relief not to feel the tearing and straining, but the desperation returns because he knows he’s going to be stuck motionless in a matter of minutes. If he wasn’t immersed in water already, he’d cry.

            ‘Shh,’ the woman in the lab coat whispers. She must be a scientist, because why else with the coat and the button-pressing and the… oh, no wait, he’s lost it. Whatever he’d been about to say probably doesn’t matter anyway. A finger strokes the glass softly and the motion is strangely reassuring. It’s like she’s calming an animal. There’s words he wants to say to her, but it’s odd, his mouth seems reluctant to form them, as though it’s unused to the concept of forming words. Like he could speak anyway; when he opens his mouth it just draws in more of the salty amniotic fluid to his lungs. Feels weird not using them, because every instinctive part of his brain tells him to breathe and it’s prevented at every turn.

            It doesn’t take long for him to slip under.

 

Prompto came to with a jolt. He’d slid halfway off his chair, one hand dragging in the grit beneath him, the other tangled in the canvas armrest.

            ‘You okay?’

            He snapped to attention. Noctis was in Iris’s place now, and he was staring. Those soft-lidded eyes met with his own, curious and searching. It was then that he became aware he was shaking, muscles twitching like dying spiders. He righted himself in the chair and felt a coldness grip at his stomach. No - he had to stand up.

            No sooner had he done so than he doubled over, diaphragm convulsing and trying to force him to puke against his will. The sensation shivered up his gullet, trying to drag his dinner along with it, but he held it down. He’d only had cup noodles and coffee that evening, but at the back of his throat he tasted chlorine and salt. He gagged.

            Then came warmth, solidity, braced against his body. Noctis had leaped from his chair and had one arm over his shoulders, steadying him.

            ‘Hey, Prom, come on. Hold it together.’

            He uttered a muffled agreement as Noctis pulled him into a seated position on the ground.

            ‘Let’s just… sit down here for a bit. Okay?’

            ‘Y-yeah.’ He sat where Noctis dictated, which happened to be at the edge of the haven, so his legs could dangle freely from the side of the rocky outcrop. He gripped his knees, steadied himself. ‘Ah - I’m sorry, buddy. That took, uh, longer than I expected. Were you out here watching that the entire time?’

            ‘Prompto, you were fine until just now.’

            ‘I - I was?’

            ‘Yeah, you - you were just sitting there, talking, then like a second later…’

            Prompto closed his eyes, tried to recall what he’d been talking about. It was no use. He couldn’t remember. The hands on his knees were doing nothing to quell the shaking, and when he turned back to Noctis, he felt so guilty at how worried his friend looked. Noctis had enough to worry about.

            ‘So, uh… what were talking about, again? Sorry.’

            ‘Heh, never mind that. Just Sania and her damn frogs. Prom, this is more important, okay? I’m…’ Noctis trailed off, rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. ‘I’m worried.’

            ‘Really, it’s, uh…’ He stopped, clutched at his chest. He’d been about to fob it off as nothing, but a fresh wave of trembling hit him and the tender muscles lining his ribcage began to throb violently. He hissed out a pained breath, tried to get control. And then the memory of water filled his senses. He wanted it _out_ , so badly he could have clawed at his own skin. Instead he settled for holding his head in his hands.

            Gentle touches on his back. Noctis, rubbing between his shoulder blades. He didn’t exactly say anything comforting, he wasn’t the type, but this was enough to encourage him to free his head from his own grip. He looked up at Noctis with shining eyes.

            ‘Feels like my head’s splitting apart,’ he said, trying to muster a laugh. His shallow attempt at lightening the mood dropped away entirely as new sensations flooded his brain. ‘Fuck, it’s all just rolling about in there and I keep thinking about what he told me and… ugh!’

            ‘Who? Who told you what?’ Noctis was speaking in a calm, measured tone, although there was a slight vibrato to his voice. Worry. Prompto gulped. He ought to just say it outright, but gods, it was hard.

            ‘Ardyn,’ he said, after a while. ‘He asked me… which one of them I was.’

            ‘One of who?’

            He didn’t know how to explain. He hadn’t thought this far. So he kept silent, chewing his lower lip, focussing hard on the rustling leaves below them as wind rushed through the thicket, made the bushes dance.

            ‘Prom, I don’t understand. Yesterday I try to ask you about this, and you say nothing’s wrong. Now you’re… you’re falling apart beneath my fingertips and I just… You - you’re not making much sense.’

            Noctis’s eyes were watering. Ugh, his eyes were watering and it was all his fault. He couldn’t stand him looking so troubled on his behalf. 

            ‘Where’s Iris?’ He spoke suddenly, mind switching tracks before logic could catch up.

            ‘She went to bed a long while ago. We’re the only ones struggling with sleep tonight.’ Noctis kicked back, looked up at the stars, and Prompto copied him, noticing how clear the sky now was. There was still the smell of dirt after the rain, and some of those clouds from earlier were still visible beyond the silhouettes of the trees. But above them, only a rich, deep black with tiny pinpoints of light embedded like glitter. It was calming. Much better than the clouded water of the tank. He felt his heart rate return to normal slowly. Then Noctis said, in all seriousness, ‘Altissia tomorrow. Will you really be okay?’

            ‘Yeah. I think so.’ He laughed quietly, and this time it was genuine, not some forced attempt to lift the mood. ‘This whole journey’s been kind of mental, huh?’

            ‘Yeah. You could say that again.’

            Again, he was overcome with the sensation of finality that had become a familiar backbeat to his life since Galdin Quay. The fear of last chances slipping away. He gripped Noctis’s forearm before he even realised. Didn’t let go even when he heard Noctis breathe in sharply, in case it meant letting go forever.

            ‘What’s gotten into you?’ Noctis began, but then Prompto’s other arm clawed its way to his shoulder and he fell against his prince’s chest, burying his face in the ragged fabric still stained with dirt and leaves from the day’s travelling. He hugged him, still all shivering from the stress, and Noctis hugged back. It was such a relief, such a blessing, that he could hear himself starting to ramble again. ‘I want it to turn out okay,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why it feels so… like this. But I’m scared. Sorry. I know it’s dumb. But I don’t want to lose you.’

            ‘It’s not dumb,’ Noctis said, and then came the most sweet-tempered touch upon his head, accompanied by the sound of lips parting, and the warmth of light breath. Noctis had kissed the crown of his head. _He’d kissed him_ , and Prompto had no idea how to respond. Heart racing circuits inside his chest for a second that felt like forever, then he unfroze his muscles and forced himself to react. No need to say anything. Prompto sniffed, hugged tighter, nestling into his warmth. Then Noctis spoke again. ‘You’re not gonna lose me, Prom.’

            He lifted his head, too shaky and emotional now to care about the fact his face was only centimetres from Noctis’s. He’d adjusted so well to the moonlight now that he could see the pores in Noctis’s skin, the dilation of his pupils, the soft shadow around his upper lip from where he’d forgotten to shave that morning. Noctis was haphazard and messy and caring and simply _perfect_.

            ‘Promise?’

            Noctis kissed him in response, lips pressed against his own in a possessive frenzy, and it made his heart jump so much he worried he was on his way back to the tank again. Mercifully, he was allowed this heavenly moment without interruption. He kissed back, and for the longest time it was just the two of them against the night air, hands dipping round each other’s waists, exploring, lips smothering one another, tongues diving in for a taste. All so gentle, so tender, and it calmed Prompto’s shaking nerves, the sensation of his body becoming so malleable under Noctis’s touch. Made him feel worlds apart from the cold water and metal and harsh blackened oil that haunted his mind.

            Noctis gripped hard upon his hips, but never went further than that. It was secretly a relief, because Prompto had no idea how to do what he wanted to do next. They shared one last kiss under the canopy, then went to bed side by side, snuggled up together innocently, appreciating each other’s warmth.

            Prompto made sure to sear the memory into his mind before he fell asleep. He was collecting moments, and he didn’t know why that was so important, but he kept doing it just the same, with all the urgency of a cockle farmer racing to gather his harvest before the tide came in. This particular moment would have the prime position in his collection, without a doubt. Whatever lay waiting for them in Altissia, at least he’d have this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - ALTISSIA.  
> Be prepared.


	5. Peel Away the Armour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ardyn is a creep and nothing goes to plan.
> 
> I'm sorry, Ignis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for more Ardyn badtouch in this one. Also: physical violence.

Altissia had not panned out as intended.

            All hell had broken loose when Luna took the podium to appeal to Leviathan. They had known the Niffs would attempt to disrupt the covenant, Ignis had made that more than clear on the gondola ride over. But when the moment came, it was so abrupt, Prompto had barely the time to think. He was on evacuation duty, stationed at the east exit of the temple with Ignis, while Gladio had the west. Noctis was meant to be on his way to back up Luna inside the temple arena, but the Imperial dropships had landed early, cutting him off. No sooner had Leviathan risen from the deep, no sooner had Luna started to sing to the terrifying creature, than the infantry fired their harpoons into the monstrous Goddess’s neck.

            Now Prompto was perched on the back of one of those huge harpoons, swinging through the air on his way to intercept Noctis. Necessity had forced him to get up and personal with the machinery, because he’d remembered what Ignis had told him about how easily he’d mastered the circular saw, he’d remembered little snippets of conversation from the guys - _‘Paradise for a technophile like you’ -_ and it had just made sense. Ignis’s stunned face when he’d fiddled with the electrics and kicked the machine into motion was burned into the inside of his eyelids now, something he’d proudly remember for ever.

            He had his phone pressed against his ear, and was currently shouting instructions to Noctis, who was fleeing the City Hall with troopers hot on his tail.

            ‘Just trust me, okay? Jump.’

            It was an exercise in dexterity to hold the phone and pilot the machine in tandem, but somehow Prompto managed it. He hung up just as he passed under the archway, just as he saw the small silhouette leap into the air. Then it was a matter of swinging the machine round, hoping he’d calculated the angle correctly.

            He had. Noctis made contact with the metal surface with a heavy thud, scrabbling for purchase, staring at Prompto all wide-eyed.

            ‘The hell is this?’

            ‘Hah! New ride from the Niffs. Should get us in nice and close.’

            The shock from the fall gave way to amazement, then relief. Noctis gripped tighter round Prompto’s waist, and readied his sword.

            Leviathan was kicking up a splash, venting out her unbridled fury at every mortal faction gathered there. Prompto flinched as the distorted, godly words hit his ear, because it terrified him just how close it was to the sound of daemons chittering. Things he’d heard on those rare occasions they’d been caught outside of a haven after dark, things that haunted his senses in the spaces between dreaming and waking, things so familiar to him although he struggled to place exactly why. Sometimes he feared the daemon sounds came from within him, as though it was dissolved in his blood. But there was a subtle difference in what he heard here. Daemons always sounded wild, savage for the sake of being savage, with little or no realisation of what or who they were opposed to, whereas what he felt emanating from Leviathan was nothing but pure contempt.

            He dragged his thoughts away, focussed on the water jets headed their way.

            ‘Knock those jets back, ‘kay? Don’t want this thing to get H-2-Overload.’ Despite the situation, he laughed at his own pun. Noctis snorted.

            ‘Seriously.’ They stole a glance at each other; Noctis grinned, and readied his weapon to fend off the water projectiles.

            He tried to ignore the harsh, backwards sound of Leviathan’s voice as he navigated a narrow gap between two buildings, but there was no stopping it piercing through. He settled for clenching his teeth, focussing on the controls beneath his hands, trying to keep the machine in override and steer it at the same time. The shuddering of metal beneath him made his whole body vibrate and it caught at his nerves, activated familiar pathways to injuries that had never really existed. His elbow, his jaw, his forehead... The list always seemed to be growing, and every point was tingling, and fast growing unbearable.

            A particularly loud shriek from the goddess muted all sound temporarily, left him with nothing but a high-pitched whistling. Suddenly it was like someone had placed sound-cancelling headphones over his ears. And then, cutting into the padded silence, a voice quite unexpected. Old. Lofty. Masculine.

_‘It thinks it’s really there, doesn’t it?’_

He recognised that voice, and when he did, he didn’t want to be anywhere near the machinery any more. Of course, with the goddess raging up ahead, and with Noctis depending on him, he had no choice. But at the same time, a shadow of another place entirely started to reveal itself. It was like a photo negative lain across the sclera of his eyes: he saw the old scientist with the long white hair and that sharp beak of a nose, peering over at him all haggard and conniving, hands fidgeting like he was itching to get to work on something. Despite the clear evidence of the wind rushing past his face, Prompto felt as though he wasn’t moving, like he was sitting in a chair in a movie theatre, watching this hell of an action scene unfold at the hands of someone else while the scientist talked at him.

_‘It’s acting the part so well, it simply knows it’s in the real world. Heh.’_

_Shut up,_ he thought, trying to make his internal shouting as loud as possible to make the interference go away. Strangely, it worked. His ears made a sort of popping sound, and the sounds of water and roaring and gunfire returned once more. Anyway, ignore that weird moment. He was coming up on Leviathan’s glistening carapace, the metres between them closing in fast.

            ‘Gonna bring her in now, Noct - get ready!’

            ‘Uh-huh.’

            Noctis patted Prompto’s shoulder, the only indication of thanks he could spare in such a situation, before he jumped, warping onto the leathery fold of skin just below Leviathan’s huge marble of an eye. The inertia left in his wake rocked the harpoon violently and Prompto weathered it through, more focussed on ensuring Noctis made a safe landing than on his own security.

            He scrambled for control once Noct landed firm. His job was done.

            The only problem now was getting back down to the ground. And that meant landing the thing. He had no idea how he’d do it. Maybe hitting the water and just swimming to a nearby building was safer. For now, he simply sped away from the fight as fast as possible.

            Behind him, Leviathan roared in that unsettling language once more, and of course, the scientist’s voice just had to return in the acoustic dampening that followed.

_‘Do you trust what you see?’_

Prompto gritted his teeth. Not now, come on.

Behind him, Noctis had activated the armiger and Leviathan was flinging into a full rage. A wall of water rose up at his back, cutting him off from the arena in a violent wave. The propellers at the back of the harpoon filled up and sputtered, and the crackling, fizzing sound of electrics shorting out was what preceded the eventual tilt and fall of the machine. Gravity surged in his chest as he tipped downward along with it, heart tripping up, stomach surging with the sensation. As he grabbed tight, the machine span and he lost all sense of direction.

 _‘After all, what are your senses other than electrical impulses passing between cells?’_  Pink noise roared in his ears, and the old man’s croak of a voice was his only accompaniment as the harpoon went careening into a marble wall. Prompto didn’t even have time to yell - his head hit the water-slicked, polished rock and he went under.

 

Coming back to his senses under a stormy sky, he’s confused to find himself already standing upright. Again, his arm is heavy, and his vision is blinkered into nothing but a pair of narrow slits in front of him. He twists his head for a better view and finds nothing but resistance at the back of his neck, accompanied by clacking and grinding. The feel of cool metal against his skin. He must be leaning against something - the harpoon, maybe? He struggles for control but there’s more than the hard surface preventing him from full movement. There’s some mental element at play here, he thinks, and he feels a hollow drop when he realises he’s doing the spectator thing again.

            He curses in his head, because he can’t manage to force the words out of his tongue. His mouth feels useless, like it’s been slicked with numbing liquid at the dentist.

            The pressure of metal is not just at his back, and at this he realises he’s not leaning on anything. Whatever this firm surface is, he’s entirely encased in it. Wearing it like armour. Like…

            _Oh gods._

His stomach lurches violently and he comes close to throwing up inside the casing. The only thing stopping him is the block, the firewall over his mind that prevents it issuing commands to his body. For the first time, he wonders if he is the only occupant, because this mental resistance feels so _other_ , feels so distinct.

            He knows one thing for certain, because he’s managed to adjust his eyes to the darkened environment now and he can see his own arm in front of him. It confirms what he suspected. The body he’s in right now, it’s Magitek. _He_ is Magitek. Gods, this has to be a really bad trip or something, because this is his worst fear made real. He knows he’s from Niflheim, he knows that the barcode tattooed on his wrist means more than his adoptive parents and… he forgets the name, but the man who trained him, yes… more than they ever let on.

            There’s a grunt, a sniffle. Pained noises of fruitless exertion, coming from somewhere below him. It takes a lot of concentration, but he manages to angle his head further down. Shards of rain line his vision, falling in puddles on the ground, making circular rings across the water’s surface, and misting as they glance off the figure at his feet.

            The figure is wearing familiar clothes. Purple printed shirt and tight black jeans and silver driving gloves. The name comes to him almost instantly when he’s faced with the physical reality.

            Ignis.

            Ignis is on the ground, and he’s being held down by a slew of Imperial soldiers and Magitek Troopers. Guns are pointed at his fallen form, and Prompto realises why his own arms feel so heavy. He’s holding a rifle himself, a heavy, oversized thing, and it’s pointed straight at Ignis’s head.

            He tries to yell. Tries to lower his arms. Nothing works. So he tries to close his eyes, shut it out and force his mind back into whatever dark space it came from, in the hopes he’ll be able to claw his way back to reality.

            But isn’t this reality? He’s still in Altissia, isn’t he? With the leftovers of Leviathan’s rage falling from the sky, and the broken buildings and rubble cleaved from that fine Accordo marble, it couldn’t possibly be anywhere else. It feels so palpable it makes him doubt all chance of it being a dream.

            He shakes it off. Tries to shut the sight out again.

            This time a noise distracts him from his attempts to escape. Amidst the dying tumult, footfalls that are intimately familiar. A voice that flows like honey, that purrs its way into his head. A predator is drawing near.

            There’s a silhouette blocking the light and he looks across to see the man with the bitter red hair. He stands before Ignis and smiles so kindly, looking for all the world like he’s about to eat him. Ignis struggles fervently, hissing a name.

            Ardyn, yes, Ardyn. It’s always Ardyn, isn’t it? He remembers him there, by the caravan chairs and the workshop tables in his mind, picking out words the way a surgeon selects the right tool for precision work. And now he’s coming in for the kill.

            Ignis shouts and struggles, more violently than before, nearly wrenching free the arm that’s been pulled behind his back to the point of dislocation. To Prompto’s own horror, he takes the initiative, moves his gun aside and uses one heavy metal-gloved hand to shove Ignis’s face back down in the dirt. He watches himself do it through unbelieving eyes. He’s not gracious about it - he knows it’s got to hurt. And Ignis gasping is more than he can bear. He never wants to hear that wretched sound again.

            Then Ardyn’s raising his hand. Saying something that’s indistinguishable through the rain but it makes Ignis spit. A flick of Ardyn’s wrist, and a word, that’s all it takes.

            _‘Subdue.’_

            Prompto’s body gears up into motion, leg grinding forward into a swift upper kick. Ignis gasps once more and it sounds like he’s choking as his neck snaps backward into an unnatural position. He doesn’t faint, and honestly, that’s worse. Prompto’s boot comes down, and much as he tries to stop himself doing it, he has no control. The hard metal soles rake over Ignis’s face, dragging his glasses away in the process. Prompto crushes them underfoot, and hates himself for doing it. He doesn’t understand. He’s stuck behind war-glazed eyes.

            Ardyn’s saying something else now, and everything’s going so, so wrong because there’s a flash of orange as the ground lights up beneath him. Ignis has the wild look of an animal backed into a corner. He recognises the move – Ignis is summoning Sagefire. The orange light gathers like orbs around his hands where they’re still twisted behind him, and the soldier restraining him yells with the sudden heat, starts to kick him. But he doesn’t stop. He’s got the frenzied dedication of a suicide bomber as the blaze spreads forth, smothers them all in a fierce blast. Prompto can smell skin burning like bacon, and there’s yells from the ordinary soldiers, inhuman shrieks from the Magitek Troopers. His own body starts to prickle with pinpoints of pain, and he realises some of the shrieking is his own. Ardyn’s face is crossed with rage - or is it surprise? There’s no time to tell, because Ardyn raises a dark, oily shadow that smothers the blast, quelling it entirely. Prompto’s head reels - the smell is unbearably acrid. Before darkness pulls him under, he catches a glimpse of Ignis’s ruined face, of the crushed and bleeding mess where his eyes should be, and it rends him to the core. So when the fall comes, he embraces it like a drug-seeker, wanting nothing but merciful reprieve.

 

 

‘A light concussion, that’s all.’

            The voice cut through the swirling dark, and he pushed his way through the thick veil of sleep to answer it.

            ‘E…xcuse me?’ Prompto opened his eyes to brightness and dust. Fabric beneath his fingertips, so soft and comforting. It didn’t seem real. Slowly, his eyes adjusted enough to look around. Rays of sunlight shone through voile curtains into a finely-furnished room. Altissia: it had to be the hotel in Altissia. Nothing was flooded, and there wasn’t an Imperial in sight, thank the Six. Was that enough to suggest he was safe?

            Some of those rays hit a figure resting on a chair before him. Prompto struggled up, shielded his eyes to see better.

            ‘Ignis?’

            The figure nodded. Prompto’s eyes adjusted a little more - now he could just about make out the silhouette, that familiar spiked array of hair.

            ‘What happened? Where’s Noct?’

            ‘He’s in the next room. The covenant took a lot out of him.’

            ‘Right. Um…’ Whatever Prompto had been about to say petered off into nothingness at that moment, because his eyes had now adjusted fully to the room and he could see Ignis’s face.

            ‘Iggy, what…’ Breath became all choked up in his throat. Ignis was wearing broad shades over his eyes but beneath that were bandages, and reddened skin, cracking and peeling round the edges.

            ‘Ah… yes, well…’ Ignis bit his lip, trying unsuccessfully to hide his wincing as his brow furrowed and dragged the healing, burned skin down with it. ‘Not everything went according to plan.’

            In his head, he could hear the glasses crunching underfoot repeatedly. The bright orange blaze took over his senses and his leg twitched reflexively. He couldn’t keep it together any longer. Sitting there nestled amid the soft bedcovers, Prompto began to cry.

 

 

He’s dragged out of the scene by the sensation of gravity. Bubbling, all around him. The water’s draining from the tank, he realises, as his forehead is met with cold air and the eerie sensation of water lapping at skin.

            Unsteady feet make contact with the base of the tank, and the pressure on weak ankles makes them crack. It deserves to hurt, after what he’d just done. Again, he hears the sound of glass breaking in his head and his emotions are all awhirl and tears trickle down his cheeks to join with the amniotic salt dripping down his naked body. He steadies himself against the glass until it drops away, and he falls into the cold embrace of a pair of lab technicians.

            ‘Steady,’ a voice says. ‘This one’s not been outside its tank before.’

            The woman with the dark curly hair is in front of him and he looks up at her, hoping for something although he’s unsure of what. The corner of her mouth twitches. She leans forward, but it’s only to remove the intravenous drips attached to the inner side of his elbows. The touches from her and the technicians feel so alien, makes the fine hairs on his skin bristle. Not that he doesn’t lean in to it like a starving child just the same.

            ‘Hmm. Attachment issues persist even in the full tank-bred models. Remind me of that later,’ she says to one of the technicians.

            They lead him through corridors with matte white walls cast silver in the low, sallow light. His legs are so weak and unused that they have to all but carry him. Eventually they reach another room, busier than the first, and much brighter, filled with screens and monitoring equipment and all manner of strange devices.

            ‘Put this one over here.’

            He’s strapped down to a table and left there, naked and freezing. Small sticky patches are attached to his bare head, and it’s at this point that he realises he’s entirely hairless. Somehow that fact makes him feel more naked than anything else, makes him feel violated. He helplessly casts his gaze around, watches as the wires that drop from the patches are threaded over to an intimidating machine nearby. The woman all but ignores him after this, swivelling into her chair and taking a drag of coffee from a thermos before busying herself with her computer screen. He strains to see, but he can’t make out any of the text. Again, it seems so alien.

            Then the old man from before enters, and the way he shuffles puts him in mind of a tortoise, ancient and hardened, yet incredibly self-assured.

            ‘Are we ready, Doctor?’ He stands, arms clasped behind his back, as he surveys her screen.

            ‘Mm-hm.’

            ‘Need to fit it for armour next.’

            He doesn’t like being called _it_ , and he’s thinking so hard on this that it takes a moment for the man’s next words to register. _‘If it works, we put this entire batch into production.’_

            Production? Batch?

            ‘No, this is no good.’ She shakes her head.

            ‘What do you mean?’ He peers over her shoulder at the data. ‘Why isn’t it stable?’

            ‘Because you’re doing it wrong,’ she chides. ‘Oxidative stress markers are showing up - look - here. You can’t keep this dosage up and expect any useful results.’

            ‘Yes, well, we haven’t got much time,’ the old man responds tetchily. ‘Just add bromide to the intravenous mix, that should stop the convulsions.’

            ‘It’s not going to stop the mental effects,’ she says, and she’s about to say more, only she’s distracted - as they all are - by a hiss and a creak, and heavy footsteps.

            The door has opened, and Ardyn walks through. Prompto knows it’s him even before he sees him properly, there’s something in the way the air seems to constrict around him, as though little black particles are fogging his vision. He knows it in the swishing sound those heavy fabrics make. He knows it in the way his heart twists in his chest.

            ‘No need for ceremony, Doctor Kore.’ Ardyn waves her back as she attempts a deferential nod of the head, and she obeys silently, stills her body. The caustic attitude she’s been displaying in the face of the older scientist has all but dropped away. Ardyn smiles at her, rests a hand on her shoulder and Prompto swears he sees her cheeks glow at the touch. The memory of the caravan returns, of Ardyn stopping time and caressing his body and he shivers in revulsion, unable to comprehend how anyone could enjoy his touch.

            ‘Verstael,’ Ardyn says, directing his words at the wizened man. Must be his name. The man hasn’t bothered to turn around upon Ardyn’s entrance and Prompto can only marvel at what kind of person would have that level of courage. ‘How are you enjoying being stationed at the facility full-time? It must be invigorating to have such opportunity to focus entirely on research.’

            ‘Iedolas sent you to check up on me, did he?’ The old man - Verstael - growls his words out, not in anger, but with the detachment of someone more interested in their own tasks than the intrusion of others.

            ‘Oh, not at all. I was merely interested. Call it… satisfying personal curiosity.’ He stops by Doctor Kore’s workdesk, picks up the thermos, swirls the liquid inside. ‘May I?’

            Doctor Kore nods fervently.

            He takes a sip of the coffee, smacking his lips ostentatiously.

            ‘Mm. Not quite as good as the Altissian blends, but it shall have to do. You know, Doctor, you shall have to accompany me on the next visit to Accordo’s fine capital.’

            Another blush crosses her cheeks. She says nothing, but she looks infinitely pleased.

            Ardyn returns to his point. ‘But as I was saying. My interest.’

            Trapped there on the table, Prompto can do nothing but shiver and twitch as Ardyn places a warm hand on his bald head and strokes down the side of his face, his neck, his chest, ending with a cruel flourish of the fingers just before reaching his groin. He’s looking at Prompto all the while, and when he spots the recognition there, his eyes flash. The faintest of smiles crosses his lips. It’s kindly, and scarily triumphant. But he doesn’t let on to the scientists that he knows, he just keeps talking smoothly.

            ‘I think it would be far better if you let them grow their hair out,’ he says, directing his words at Verstael. ‘If I recall, your hair was once a wonderful honey gold. I’d imagine theirs would be much the same, no?’

            ‘Too troublesome to maintain,’ the old man mutters. He’s still not bothered to look at Ardyn, but the Chancellor pays this rudeness no mind. He smirks, and his next words chill Prompto to the core.

            ‘Leave me with it.’

            ‘Why?’

            ‘This specimen might be a good host for the more complex form of the starscourge pathogen. But I will need to check, and it’s best that you both avoid contamination.’

            The pair obey, and leave quickly. Not so much as a backward glance towards him.

            When they’re finally alone, Ardyn reaches forward, pauses just before touching him, mouth parted in delight, allowing a little moment more to witness the anxiety gather. Then he smiles, and starts to unbuckle the straps that tie him down, freeing him from immobility. He removes the sticky patches from his head, casts them to the side carelessly.

            He’s confused by this. Why is he being freed? Ardyn has no reason to be so nice to him, surely? He watches him with a healthy measure of distrust, but doesn’t refuse the hand that pulls him upright. Now they both sit side by side on the cold examination table. Prompto doesn’t like the heat he feels from the man’s body, and he definitely doesn’t like the fact it makes him crave more warmth.

            ‘There, now. Isn’t that so much better?’

            Again comes the memory of the glasses breaking, of Ardyn’s cruel smile as he pins down his friend, oh, if only he could remember his name… He breathes out, close to hyperventilating, and with a jolt he remembers. _Ignis. You hurt him. You made me hurt him._

            The rage, the pure hatred for this man spills out from his lips while his body trembles. But his mouth has never been used before, and it doesn’t know how to make the sounds form properly.

            ‘Aaah…’

            It’s all just vowels coming out, a jumbled mess, and it’s so frustrating that tears leak from his eyes. He stops vocalising. Tries again, tongue thick in his mouth.

            ‘A-a-ardyn…’

            Ardyn mimics his pathetic voice. ‘A-a-ardyn, oh Ardyn!’ He chuckles, strokes his head, draws him closer to his breast. It’s cloying and unwelcome and everything about the man screams _unnatural_ but he can’t wriggle away. Ardyn plants a soft kiss on the crown of his head, then pats him like an obedient dog and whispers, ‘I’m so glad you know who I am.’

            He cries through the humiliation. The pat on his head, the wicked laugh, it makes him feel so dumb. So helpless.

            ‘You - you! Ig… Ignis…’

            ‘My dear boy, you’re starting to figure it out, aren’t you? I mean, you all do eventually. It’s just so interesting how it seems to hit each of you at different times.’

            ‘Wha… what?’

            ‘Do you even know who you are?’

            ‘I… I, ah…’ He doesn’t understand. He zones out for a moment, casts his head towards the floor, feeling so, so small.

            ‘I’m asking you your name, my dear. It’s rude not to answer.’

            He forces words out again, keeps on trying. He’s going to be ridiculed anyway, so he hasn’t got much to lose.

            ‘I… I’m… Prompto.’

            Ardyn laughs so hard at this that his unruly red hair falls forward to tickle the top of his bald head. ‘Ah, no,’ he says, when he’s quite recovered from his mirth. ‘Your number is 01982.’

            He examines his own wrist. Sees the number tattooed into his flesh, and the two letters that lie before it. Tries to repeat it.

            ‘N…H…0…’ The resultant mash of syllables sounds all run-together. _Ennaitcho._

            ‘That’s not part of it, I’m afraid. You do know what the NH stands for, don’t you? _Non-Human_.’ Ardyn speaks with jest, like an amused parent teaching their child the basics of the alphabet for the millionth time. He turns his wrist over, strokes the imprint.

            ‘01982. But wait. No… that’s not who I’m talking to right now, is it?’ He peers closely at him, fixing amber eyes on his more vacant ones. He’s searching, reading him. And when he finds what he’s looking for his eyes light up again. ‘You’re someone else still.’

            ‘I… I don’t kn-know.’ He’s still struggling with the syllables.

            ‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out. But to make it easier…’ Ardyn pauses, strokes his chin in a mockery of a deep thinker. ‘Should we leave some evidence? I am curious to know who you really are. And,’ - here he grins, claps a hand round his shoulder jocularly, but his grip is a little too crushing, a little too possessive - ‘it will be hard for you to keep quiet when you see your brother’s bruised body. Pesky mirror neurons and all.’

            Ardyn pulls him onto the floor and strikes him violently. The force comes out of nowhere, and the turnaround from warm and hospitable to this monster of a human being scares him so much he breaks out sobbing. He doesn’t feel like he has a choice in the matter.       

            Ardyn’s sighing above him now and he’s so worried, but he can’t stop making the noise. It earns him a swift kick to the ribs, and more blows land around his shoulders, on his thighs, over his head. Then both hands grip firm around his throat and pull his head back until he’s on his knees, back arched upright and mouth gagging for air.

            Ardyn laughs as he toys with his life, then he lets go and moves behind him as he gasps, holding tight round his body like he’s cradling it, a sickening callback to the move he pulled outside the caravan. It makes his blood turn to ice, makes him struggle more.

            ‘No… no, plaaii…’ Words still move like clay in his mouth, but it almost sounds like a ‘Please.’

            ‘Oh, you remember this, do you?’

            His struggling turns frenetic at this. He wants to claw his way out of the man’s grip. There’s no way he can manage that, though, so he turns inward, dissociates, searches for a way out of this reality.

            ‘Ah - don’t jump out before I’m done with you,’ Ardyn says, before pressing kisses all along his shoulders, and forcing fingers into his mouth. It’s crude and vulgar, and makes him gag. Then those prying fingers slip down, streaked with saliva, to grip his jaw and he finds himself twisted round to face the monster directly. The pain along his jaw feels familiar, and he knows this has happened before. Then his mouth is crushed in a heavy kiss. He tastes salt and sugar at the same time, along with a strong tang of coffee.

            It lasts too long. So many seconds in which he begs for a change of scene to come and steal him away. Figures it wouldn’t happen when he wanted it to. He waits it out, tears smarting in his eyes, and whenever he sobs Ardyn starts laughing into the kiss, all hollow and scornful, and it fills his lungs, makes him buck.

            Eventually Ardyn breaks it off. Speaks close to his ear.

            ‘You still think you’re him, don’t you? I wonder when the real one will realise?’ Ardyn pats him softly on the shoulder, laughing as he shudders in response. ‘Well, I must be off. I have a train to catch.’ Hands grasp his head and he’s shoved face first into the floor with such ferocity that he blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go.


	6. Abattoir Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prompto comes face to face with the truth.
> 
> All he ever wanted was Noctis. Why did it have to end like this?

 

When he dreams now it’s like he’s switching television channels in rapid succession. He can’t hold on to anything for too long, and the sharpest bits of memory snag at the edges of his brain until somewhere he’s sure he’s screaming. New information - _you’re not Prompto you never were_ \- minces the connections in his brain until he’s a mess, fumbling in the darkness for something to start making sense. He doesn’t know who he is.

            Ardyn called him by a number - _01982, and the NH stands for Non-Human, don’t you know -_ but even that was the wrong one. Didn’t feel like it belonged to him anyway. His identity is all wrapped up in the blond-haired boy who pines for his best friend, and he doesn’t have the mental acuity to wonder if Prompto was ever real to begin with because he’s switching too fast for it to make sense.

            He gets the feeling something momentous has happened, though. Something so incredibly painful. There’s train tracks shimmering in and out of reality before him and he tries so hard to remember Ardyn’s parting words but they just won’t come.

 

 

This time when he’s dragged out of the water he remembers not to lean on the glass. When the tank’s finished draining, the glass slides up and away and then he’s exposed to the cold air of the laboratory chamber, shivering and naked, spluttering while his lungs choke up the sticky saltwater, alveoli trying fervently to work the way they were designed to. He’s heaving in air like a newborn. He tries to brace his feet for impact with the slippery floor but he buckles, and has to be lifted by lab assistants again.

            He could swear he’s done this before, so why do his legs feel even more like jelly than the first time?

            Never mind that. He tries to focus on what’s happening now, as he’s pulled a few steps forward and forced to stand quite still. Why the rude awakening?

            ‘Oh, hush now, it won’t take long.’

            That voice. It makes his skin prickle. It’s coming from the far end of the room and while it’s not directed at him it makes him grow painfully alert, hypervigilant as his eyes scan the shapes laid out before him for some kind of meaning.

            He adjusts to the turquoise light to see other naked figures. There’s a long line of them, standing to attention whilst being examined. All of them look exactly like him. This detail is not surprising, because by now he knows, he’s aware he’s Magitek, just another link in a chain, but it hurts to see it nonetheless. His heart’s hammering away in his chest and he’s trying so hard not to think about his own name, because he doesn’t know who Prompto is any more, and the idea that it’s not him hurts far more than seeing those perfect copies of his own body all lined up beside him.

            Speaking of. They’re all keeping silent, so he stays silent too. At the end of the lineup are two, no, three figures that stand apart. Two white coats and one black.

            One white coat separates from the huddle, heads over to a screen. A scratchy, irritated voice accompanies it.

            ‘Fine. You’ve got ten minutes.’

            The black coat shifts and he sees the red hair now, as frayed as the ends of the scarf it surrounds. The figure turns, sharp jawline catching the low laboratory light so it makes his face look almost daemonic. His steps are slow and determined, and those piercing eyes are roving, searching for something.

            He knows this man is Ardyn. It’s one of the few names he remembers. The mere sight of the man is enough to make him whimper, and it’s all he can do to hold his tongue, because when it comes to Ardyn, he remembers everything.

            Those deliberate footsteps stop in front of one naked figure in particular, one that’s close enough to where he stands that he can see ugly purple marks on pale skin. Ardyn tuts softly, strokes the clone’s marred surface, and speaks.

            ‘Do you remember how you got those bruises? Hmm?’

            Ardyn presses hard his fingertip into soft skin and the clone sniffs, stutters, then outright yells as the pressure increases. Ardyn asks it again, and when it doesn’t remember it freaks out. Stuttering more as it turns inward, curling its neck down where it stands as though that will shield its body from the question that’s impossible to answer. Impossible, because the poor clone simply wasn’t at home in its mind when those bruises had been made. He understands now, and he feels so terribly guilty.

            He watches Ardyn strike the clone across the head, watches his brother suffer the way he did in that very body not so long ago, and seeing it play out before his eyes is like having it happen all over again. He remembers sitting on the cold lab table, he remembers the way Ardyn touched him when he released the straps. He remembers being hit, hard and unrelenting, cowering on the floor as if that would stop it. He remembers the kiss. The ache in his jaw. Sympathetic nerves twitch into life and he can’t help it - a whimper escapes him.

            It’s at this moment that Ardyn wheels round to face him, a prizewinning grin painted on his face. Ardyn drops his hold of the other clone, abrupt as a change in the weather, and strides over.

            ‘Found you.’

            His heart’s running triple beats because he doesn’t know what’s going to happen. Soft touch or a kiss with a fist; it could be either, and the threat of not knowing is too much to bear.

            He starts crying.

            Ardyn places his lips lightly on his forehead, and he sobs into the merciful act. But no sooner does he let himself relax than Ardyn grips tight the scruff of his neck, bringing him to wild-eyed attention. Ardyn’s other hand moves to his wrist, brings the tattoo up to the light.

            ‘Zero One Nine Eight Eight. Not so far removed from poor Eight Two over there. Ah, didn’t I tell you you wouldn’t be able to keep silent?’

            He has no idea what to say; he’s too busy rising upward onto his tiptoes to alleviate the twisting grip Ardyn has on his neck.

            ‘I asked you a question.’

            He sees no other solution than to nod, and it pleases Ardyn immensely, although he doesn’t release his hold.

            The gruff, scratchy voice speaks up again from the other end of the room.

            ‘What on earth is this all about, Chancellor?’

            ‘I met this one. It had slipped into our dear Prompto’s mind while I led the Royal Entourage to Titan. Oh, what a surprise to find it fully in control of the little gunman’s body.’ Ardyn shifts his hold upward slightly, enough to stroke a thumb hard over his cheekbone. ‘Doctor Kore, you may want to take notes - ah, ahead of me already, I see.’

            Behind Ardyn, the scientist with the curly hair is busy tapping away on her datapad. She’s hardly looking at him, engrossed as she is in her writing. There’s a fervent dedication with which she drags her finger across the pad, moving like wildfire, all scattered and excited.

            Ardyn’s got such a tight grip on the side of his face that he can feel the tendons shift in his neck from the pressure. Nails are digging in, and he feels like a mouse caught in the paw of a cat. He’s being toyed with before supper.

            He remembers well the humiliation of trying and failing to articulate himself, and he pauses for breath, steadies his diaphragm, steels his jaw to prepare.

            ‘Why,’ is what he says when he finally gets his tongue round the words. ‘Why?’

            The question makes Ardyn’s face light up.

            ‘It’s a marvel, isn’t it? The collective unconscious. All of you 0595 models share this particular oddity. You are all part of a glorious network that extends beyond human capability. Connected across continents; a philosophical pipe dream made real.’ He pauses to consider. ‘No wonder poor Prompto’s had nightmares all these years.’

            He stares at Ardyn. He’s struggling to parse this new information, because it sounds so ridiculous. He wants to ask _Is Prompto real?_ He thinks about shooting that Magitek Trooper right between the eyes and when he remembers feeling it, experiencing the fading light for himself, he wants to ask _how many times have I died?_ What escapes his mouth is nothing so eloquent, just a high keening noise, followed by bitter denial.

            ‘No… N-no waiii… Augh!’ Eyes close tight. He doesn’t want to look any more. ‘Can’t, can’t be…’

            ‘Oh, but it is.’

            ‘Shu… shut up. Shut up, shut up!’

            Ardyn laughs at this and the sound is hollow in the formica-panelled room.

            ‘Are you seeing this, Verstael, dearest?’

            The old scientist doesn’t seem impressed by Ardyn’s pet name, if the tone of his reply is anything to go by.

            ‘It’s a damn bother.’

            ‘But don’t you find it even the slightest bit interesting? A wholly unexpected side effect of your neural chip technology.’

            ‘It only exists to provide an easy way to transmit updated information between them.’ Verstael glowers. ‘Feelings aren’t going to win us the war.’ He grunts, and there’s the distinct sound of fingers clacking over a keyboard. He’s getting agitated. Eventually, he asks, ‘Are you done with your little games, Chancellor? I need to prepare these failed units for absorption.’

            Ardyn shrugs, full of nonchalance. ‘Immortalis?’

            Verstael nods.

            ‘I think that’s a small mercy, honestly,’ Doctor Kore mutters.

            He stares from Ardyn to Kore to Verstael, not understanding. Why is he suddenly feeling so scared?

            Doctor Kore tells Verstael she’s noted down all the information she needs, and he hears something about improving the neural chips for the next round. Something about oxidative stress. About how _these ones are spent_. She talks about Lewy bodies and abnormal protein aggregates in the brain and it sounds terrifying. He’s starting to feel lightheaded.

            ‘I’ll leave the rest of the fine details to you,’ Ardyn murmurs as she wraps up her rant. She flushes with the recognition. Ardyn sighs, then finally lets go his grip to readjust his coat. ‘I ought to go see to our dear prodigal unit. The route to this facility is long and cold for those not taking the train, after all. Oh, and Verstael, dearest?’

            The scientist grunts his assent. Ardyn continues.

            ‘Make sure to place this one in the entrance chamber before you assimilate. Nearest the door.’

            ‘Why?’

            ‘It’s my parting gift to it. I want to make sure it sees.’ Ardyn pats his cheek while he speaks, and again his thoughts burn bitter as he realises just how much he hates being called _it._ Then Ardyn faces him once more, drops the performative tone in favour of something far lower, far more sensitive. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, my dear. Toying with you was… a perfect opening act for the real thing. Oh, the wonders of you never cease to amaze.’

            A parting kiss, lips soft against his, and it’s the last gentle touch he feels. Lab technicians pull him back into the tank, and soon he’s wired up and knocked back into reverie.

 

 

He’s being injected with a cocktail of drugs. Epinephrine. Serotonin. Serelaxin. Bromide. Gabapentin. Hydrocortisone. The words, all tinny and resonant from the Mother-intercom, swirl in his head like shards of metal. His body shifts like shadows. There’s a bitter pain in his skull and he’s dizzy and not all there.

            When the whirring noise starts up he’s not entirely sure what’s going on. The drugs dull his senses, but somewhere below his midriff all he can feel is a slicing, tearing pain. With the painkillers, it’s not unbearable, but it feels unnatural. A crack, a tear like the breaking of a chicken’s wishbone. Something’s separating. His inner ears vibrate with the sensation of cartilage grinding. There’s energy in the movement and there’s not enough tranquiliser to divorce him completely from the experience. He wants it to stop, not because it hurts but because it scares him and it leaves the taste of death in his mouth.

            After a while he can’t feel his legs, and he’s sure he’s dissolving from the toes up. It’s an awful sensation, makes him feel like he’s falling, like those agonising moments his heart leaps as he’s trying to fall into slumber. Missing the last step on a staircase. Falling right through the cracks in the world. He loosens his jaw, screams, only no sound comes out. Everything before his eyes is dark.

 

 

Unit 0595 - and oh, he’s forgotten the rest, but it hardly matters now, does it - comes to in the cold, dark water again. Hot salt is fleeing his eyes to mix with the brine that immerses him. His nose prickles with the burning sensation of chlorine. He can’t feel anything below his midriff. He wants - he wants the big, burly man with his long hair and thick, muscled arms. He wants the protection, the safety. Here, there is to be nothing of the sort and he knows it well.

_Why do you want him, he hit you. Remember?_

_So did the beautiful boy. Knocked you clean off the roof._

            Oh. On the train. He remembers.

            It had all gone to hell, hadn’t it? They must have found out he was a Niff, no, must have been more to it than that. They must know he’s Magitek.

            He’s still trying to avoid the uncomfortable truth. The voice whispering at the back of his head; _You’re not Prompto._ If that even was the truth - it could still all be part of some mind game whipped up by Ardyn. Maybe he really was Prompto all along. Maybe he was just having a bad dream.

            What the hell happened on the train? He needs to remember.

            He tries to find the right mind to dive into, the right place in time. It’s a neural network, that’s what Ardyn said, and he can use that to his advantage now that he’s aware of it, right? He can learn to navigate it. Train. Cartanica. Come _on_.

            It catches on his mind like a barb, like a fish hook sinking into his jaw. He bites down. Follows the stream of consciousness, all light and frenzy at the end of a narrow tunnel, and then he breaks through, he’s there.

 

 

Dust on the ground. The freight train has stopped. Prompto stands in the loading bay, watching the dust kick up as Magitek Troopers rush past him, making for the train, breaking windows and rocking the structure back and forth where it rests on the rails. For some reason, they are far too distracted by the train to notice him.

            Them, up ahead of him, Noctis, running through the dining car with Ardyn hot on his tail. Prompto’s eyes widen in surprise and he’s about to call out, to warn Noctis, but then Noctis does the unthinkable and turns around, smiles, pats Ardyn on the shoulder.

            He can’t believe what he’s seeing. For a moment he wonders if he’s glitched out completely into some alternate reality. But there, the sly bastard is reciprocating the touch, and summoning his guns. Prompto’s guns. Then Ardyn adopts a stance all half-crouched and bouncy, so uncharacteristic for his elegant, flamboyant nature. It’s Prompto’s own battle stance, and suddenly the scene makes sense.

            Ardyn and Noctis share a warm look, then they leap forth into the fray.

            Prompto opens his mouth. He wants to yell, he wants to scream out _No, that’s not Prompto! I’m here, Noct. I’m here!_ Of course, nothing comes out. He should have known.

            Trying to kick his legs into motion is like trying to shift a sleeping Garula. Why is he so stiff? Eventually he manages one leg, then the other, but the movement is so stilted, and he feels like this is a sign of something he ought to be worried about, but there’s no time to spare thinking on it. He has to get Noctis away from Ardyn.

            One trooper blasts a hole in the side of the dining car, knocking Noctis back and for a horrible moment Prompto fears he’s dead. But then, a spark in the air and a flash of blue; Noctis warps out of the carriage and into the loading bay. He wastes no time in starting to take down the Magitek Troopers nearest to him.

            Prompto reaches out.

            _Noctis, watch out for Ardyn. Don’t let him fool you._

            He’s not sure whether he’s thinking the words or saying them out loud. But he’s obviously saying something, because Noctis turns and looks at him. They’re close now, and Prompto uses the remaining strength he has to close the distance. He’s overcome by the urge to hug Noctis, to hold him close and never let go, because he’s been through so much to get here and he just wants Noctis to know he’s safe, to…

            Noctis yells as Prompto grabs him round his torso, anchoring his arms firmly to his sides. This doesn’t register with Prompto at first, and he just nestles into him, hugging and wanting to cry with the soft sensation of Noctis’s body in his arms. Feels like home.

            Wait, no. Something is horribly wrong.

            He feels a burning spread throughout his chest. It’s not warm and comforting, it’s not the sort of pleasant burning he should be getting from a hug. It’s raw and painful like he’s stuck his hand in a bonfire. There’s a red glow and a crackling noise, and his whole body is heating up, fit to burst. Noctis is screaming now, trying to extricate himself from his grasp, and with a frenzied jerk he wrenches one arm free and warps away from him, sending him reeling backward.

            ‘Noct! Destroy those shock troopers before they reach the train!’ Ardyn’s calling out behind him, and Noctis nods in agreement, turns back to Prompto and aims the sword right for his heart.

            His knees buckle and he collapses to the ground as his upper body explodes, the time bomb ticking on his heart finally pushed over the edge and he sees shards of armour fly away from him. He’s so terribly scared, feeling the earth drop away while he turns supernova and bursts out into a million fragments.

 

 

The adrenaline kicks him back out of the stream of consciousness and he returns to the tank, twitching and shivering with the trauma of what just happened. Of course, now it all makes sense. Not the first time he’s inhabited the body of another clone during the moment of its death. However, it was the first time he’d almost killed Noctis. Gods forgive him.

            When the shock subsides, he starts to wonder about the nature of his memories, though. Where they’re being stored. Has to be a central hub somewhere, and if the old scientist’s lack of interest in this phenomenon is any indication, it’s probably not being monitored. He makes a note to try searching again later.

            But for now, he’s got to continue. He came so close to the right mind, and there is intense giddiness at having navigated through the network. It’s a level of control he’s not used to having. Maybe if he tries again, he can jump far enough to never come back.

            When he thinks about the possibility of escaping, his head feels foggy, and there’s a twitching below his waist that makes no sense, that seems too urgent and upsetting to think about. It feels like a huge void lies there, and like the dust in the corner of his eyes, it shifts from view every time he tries to focus on it directly. Feels like some barrier in his mind is protecting him from the truth, whatever it is.

            He’s sure he’ll remember soon.

            In the meantime, he tries again to dive into the right mind. But not to a memory, this time. He’s going for _right now_ , because it hasn’t been that long since the train incident, if Ardyn’s words are anything to go by. _Cartanica_. _What happened after he was pushed from the roof? Where is Prompto now?_

 

He searches, and it’s like nerves are firing up both within and outside of his body. Like stars lighting up a pathway through reality, across what he assumes is miles and miles of landscape, because he doesn’t know where this facility is, but he can take a guess it’s somewhere hidden far from civilisation. He searches for the stream of consciousness, feels it edging closer. And soon, flashes of white invade his senses. Snowflakes. A blizzard. Suddenly it feels deathly cold, and he’s shivering like crazy. Icy pain sinking into the marrow of his bones and he wants warm clothes, wants to call for help because each snowdrift is getting deeper and he’s stumbling and soon he won’t be able to walk any further…

            Then the mother-intercom returns.

            _Unit 05953235 - anomalous brain activity detected. Assimilation paused. Moving to suspension. Awaiting medical staff override. Awaiting -_

Again, the fresh chill in his veins. He struggles, but the chemicals overpower him with no space for recourse.

           

There’s a memory. He’s on a rooftop under an inky black sky and the beautiful dark-haired boy is looking at him.

            He feels like it happened recently, but he can’t be sure. It doesn’t matter, truthfully. All he wants is to hold fast this moment and never let it go. So he sinks his weight down on the rooftop tiles, notes the pressure of the guttering beneath his thigh, and drinks in the sight of the beautiful boy with his midnight hair, pale skin all warm like a vintage photo filter under the flickering light of the motel sign. Soft-edged eyes blink under that dark frame of hair, and lips part to ask him a question.

            ‘You look tired. You, uh, sleeping enough?’

            He’s watching himself shake the question off. At first this causes panic, but of course, he’s not trapped in Prompto’s body this time, he’s just watching a memory. Not that the end result is all that different.

            ‘That obvious, huh? Don’t worry about it - it’s no big deal.’ He speaks all dismissively. His lack of self-worth is showing.

            ‘You always say that.’

            ‘I just… I’m more worried about you. Y’know?’

            ‘Prompto, you don’t need to worry about me.’ The beautiful boy smiles, and his heart wants to melt. ‘I’ve got you.’

            He’s just thinking about how much he wants to move closer when the scene turns to white fuzz. He feels like he could have rested his head on the beautiful boy’s shoulder, he feels like they could have kissed, or maybe they just sat together staring at the stars for a while longer. He’ll never know for sure. The scene fades.

 

 

How long has it been? How much time has passed? He doesn’t know; the very concept of time is running away from him, slipping like saltwater through his fingers. Memories of places and conversations past become sodium residue caked underneath fingernails, things he can only taste if he digs in with his teeth.

            He wants to go back to the motel rooftop, but that taste has dissolved on his tongue already.

            Noctis. The boy’s name is Noctis. _Please let me hold on to that._

 

 

Now he’s in Titan’s arena, watching Noctis fell the troopers that cluster around him like flies, feeling every warp-strike like it’s a direct hit to his heart. Just like outside the gates of Insomnia, he sees small flashes of dying light from behind the eyes of the Magitek Troopers that can’t hold on to life any longer. It hurts, it hurts so damned much, but he’d rather suffer it a hundred times over than watch Noctis fail.

 

 

And now, in what feels like the millionth trip to a Royal Tomb, he’s watching the ethereal swords strike their way through Noctis’s body, wincing along with him because the pain looks unbearable, hating that it makes him feel connected to Noctis like the others aren’t, because he feels the stabbing in his heart on a near-daily basis now, every time the troopers drop in from overhead and they set to wiping out their soulless, mechanical ranks with merciless precision.

 

           

Now he’s draping a casual arm over his best friend as they play Justice Monsters Five in a roadside diner, Kenny Crow’s obnoxious smile staring at them from the menu placards all around. Making quips and bad puns like nobody’s business because he doesn’t want the only thing that connects them together to be the pain in their chests and the nightmares in their heads. Noctis smiles at him, and it feels for a moment like it’s all worth it.

 

 

_Noctis. All I ever wanted was you._

 

A bubble’s fit to bursting in his chest, and when he opens his eyes he realises it’s not a metaphor. Something’s happening in the tank, in the water all around him. It’s clouding up with small black particles and it’s making him feel both numb and ticklish at the same time.

            Mother starts up again and he strains to hear her.

            - _Scanning production code -_

            Maybe she can tell him what’s happening. He leans in to the tinny, synthesised sound. It’s more muffled than usual through the water interference, but he can still make it out.

            - _Unit 05953234 -_

Wait, that’s not his number.

_\- Confirmed. Access granted -_

The pneumatics in the door hiss, and the steel frame swings open. Someone’s entering; he can just about see the shape of them through the cloudy glass.

            Whoever they are, they’re moving hesitantly, all jittery like prey walking into a predator’s lair. They look terrified. Mouth hanging open in shock, and there’s -

            He can’t believe it when the figure walks up to his tank and looks inside, because he’s brought face to face with himself. Harvest-gold hair poking out from a woollen cap, and he’s wearing clothes he’s never seen before, but those eyes, that face… It’s unmistakeably, undeniably Prompto.

            He stares into his own eyes, utterly stricken. He wants to move, to bang on the glass and say _Save me, please,_ but the drugs are so thick in his veins. He can’t.

            Prompto’s clearly been crying, and now he starts to cry again. His eyes are ringed black, he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s so upset, so on edge, and he’s muttering something. Mouth moving in disbelief. He can’t hear too clearly with the tank fluid sloshing in his ears, because Prompto is so much quieter, so much softer than the Mother-intercom, but he thinks he’s saying _What am I?_

            No… Prompto’s starting to look away. No, this is his last chance. He needs to do something, to say something. He needs to get his brother to save him somehow.

            But still, nothing works. He’s trapped.

            Prompto sheds another tear, looks at him once more through the glass like he’s an animal in a zoo, pitiable and condemned, then he moves on. Towards the annexe at the end of the room, where two voices are arguing. Ardyn and Verstael. He can’t turn his head to see, but he knows it’s them. They’re loud enough to be so obvious.

            He knows Verstael’s unholy contraption lies at the far end. He’s heard the name enough times. _Immortalis_. He has no idea what it does, but he remembers Kore saying something about how it was the more merciful option for him. Maybe, maybe it won’t be so bad.

            Then the intercom starts up again.

            _\- Plasmodium activity index increasing. Initiating transfer to unit XDA-1002: Immortalis -_

The black particles in the water increase. Dark purple wisps of some strange substance that looks like smoke. He feels a tug at his skin, and dimly he remembers one of Prompto’s biology lessons in Insomnia. Fish that could strip meat from bone, what were they called again? Piranhas, that was it. This felt like how he’d imagined that would go. Didn’t hurt much, not with the drugs, but it tore and twisted so unnaturally it made his heart trip out with the fear. He was dissolving, being assimilated, becoming _nothing._

_No!_

            He didn’t want to die here.

            _Prompto, come back._

He tried to reach out for Prompto’s consciousness, tried to follow that pathway through the network once more. But the little black particles dulled his senses too much, eating away at the spongy material of his brain, rendering him helpless and slowly, silently, he was stripped away to nothing at all.

            _Don’t leave me here… Don’t…_

_————_

Prompto stared at the tanks, studying the perfect replicas of himself with horror in his eyes, not quite believing what he was seeing, and not wanting to believe it either.

            ‘What… am I?’

            He wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular. The words spilled from his lips unbidden, and sounded small in the high-ceilinged room. He felt absurd, like he was giving a speech to these near-inanimate clones. He was pretty sure they weren’t aware of much; none of them were moving, or showing any sign of intelligence. Like little more than dolls, and ugh, to think he could have been consigned to the same fate…

            He looked closer at the one nearest the door. Gods, everything was the same, down to the very freckle. Arms crossed over its chest, the clone floated in the thick liquid, eyes focussed dully on some middle distance. If he squinted, he fancied it was looking at him. Then, further down, the pale skin grew marred with splotches of blackness, and the liquid in the tank grew cloudy and dark with something like ink. Below the midriff, the clone’s body was mostly missing, dissolved into nothing more than tendrils of flesh like the trailing arms of a jellyfish. He felt sick looking at that mutilated lower body, trying not to think yet again on how, in another life, it could have been him. A strong shiver, then he forced himself to turn away.

            Voices at the far end of the room. Behind a pane of glass, in a sort of annexe to this chamber, he could see two people moving. Huh. So Ardyn was back, that figures… And the man next to him, could that be Verstael? The bastard whose journal entries he’d been following as he meandered through this nightmarish facility, and the reason for his very existence. He grit his teeth, and moved closer to the window.

            Ardyn was waxing on about fatherhood and family while Verstael grunted, face twisted sour as a lemon while he fiddled with the controls of the huge contraption at the centre of the room. There were more clone tanks in there, too, all wired up to that central column like tributaries from their parent river.

            Verstael finished pressing buttons. Something whirred into life, heavy and clunking and immensely powerful. Prompto paled as he saw the clones in the tanks liquefy, turn to vitreous biomass, kerogen to fuel some unholy fire. And into the central column of the contraption the material was sucked, making the column whir and gyrate as it powered up.

            The hell was Verstael doing?

            He had to confront him. _Deep breaths, come on._ He stepped forward.

_‘Ah!’_

A piercing pain hit Prompto in the side of his head, radiating out across his left temple. He gasped, clutched haplessly at his skull, staggered by the sudden jolt. There was a flash of blue-green before his eyes, and for a moment he saw black inky particles, he saw tubes and wires and heard the scraping of metal. Bubbles, releasing about him in a frenzy. Dissolving. Then darkness.

            The moment soon passed, and he straightened his back out as much as he was able to without letting the two men in the next room see him. He breathed as steady as he could, gained control of his shuddering heart. It was okay. This was only another one of those same intrusive images he’d suffered his whole life, those ones that always came at random intervals, but more often than not when fighting the enemy. Phantom pain. How it made him whimper, and how Gladio always found something snarky to say about it.

            For a brief moment, he wondered why it happened so often.

            Then he recovered. Righted himself. Moved on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably just as well Prompto doesn't realise the full extent of sentience his brothers experience. It'd hurt too much.
> 
> And I'm sorry, Prompto-clone. Your whole life was nothing but suffering.
> 
> Also, if Carl Jung were alive today he'd probably be awfully excited about the whole concept of neural implants. Collective unconscious made properly real, indeed.


End file.
